Another Chance
by The Purple Pineapple
Summary: AU: He's a well-known journalist and she's a successful lawyer. They were together, once upon a time - they were the loves of each other's life. Now he's at her door, fifteen years after breaking her heart, asking for, demanding - another chance.
1. The Past Crime

_He is walking to her apartment, a bottle of wine in a shaky hand. They need to talk about the fight, they need to talk about last night. The things they said, the things he said, ringing in his head. What he's done flashing in front of his eyes. He has to tell her. It will break her, but she'll forgive him. She has to. Eventually. He'll give her time. He'll give her space. He'll wait. She'll forgive him one day. Not because he deserves it, he doesn't, but because she deserves happy, and he, he makes her happy. He doesn't know how, or why, but he does. They said things, things they screamed, things they didn't mean. This will hurt her, he knew, but he will fix it, he will fix her. _

_And he's climbing up the stairs, it's a race. He's at her door, knocking, his heart thumping in his chest as he hears the approaching steps; but it's not her that opens them._

_"Oh, hi Abby. Liv in?" And he can tell, her face is a giveaway, something's wrong, there's something he doesn't know._

_"She's gone."_

_"What do you mean she's gone?" This isn't right. It must be a joke, a prank. She's getting back at him for that fight._

_"She's gone. She left."_

_"Well when is she coming back?"_

_"She's not."_

_"What do you mean she's not? She's meant to start law school in three days."_

_"She transferred?"_

_"What? Where?"_

_"She said you shouldn't look for her. She said to move on and let it be." And she's giving him a look, a look he doesn't understand, filled with blame, filled with despise, disgust filling her eyes._

_"Abby, you have to tell me where she is, I need to talk to her!" He's desperate and confused. How did she find out, no, he has to explain, to make it right. _

_"No, sorry." She's not. He can tell and she wants him to. She wants him to know, it's all his fault. "I have to get back to studying. Goodbye Fitz. And… don't bother coming around, she __**is**__ gone." She steps away, and slowly turns around to close the door, but then he can tell, she's having second-thoughts. She looks straight into his eyes, in hers there's just despise, "You broke her heart you know." And with that she's gone, and he's standing in the hallway alone._

_He'll find her, and he'll make it right; he will put up a fight. _

_"Fitz, wait up." And it's the last person he wants to talk to now, but he stops and turns around._

_"Mellie, what are you doing here?"_

_"Oh, you left these at my place last night, so I just wanted to drop them off."_

And the ding of the elevator snaps him out of the memories, bringing him back to reality. He presses the number, and the doors close. And with every flashing light, with numbers going up, he can feel his heart beating faster, his palms are sweating, his throat closing up. What made him think this was a good idea? He hasn't seen her in fifteen years. He hasn't seen her, or heard from her. But loving her, loving her was the one constant in his life. And with that thought, the simple realization, the little truth, he is calm again – this is where he needs to be, she is who he needs to see.

He's at her door, knocking, his heart thumping in his chest as he hears the approaching steps; but it's not her that opens them. And the image before him takes his breath.

"Hello." The little girl before him is looking at him amused, a little smile playing in her eyes. She can tell he's taken aback, she can see he's struggling.

"Zo, I told you not to get the door on your ow…" And her voice is gone; her mind painfully slow. It's the last person she expected to see, the one she most wanted it to be.

"I'm sorry." And the little girl is batting her lashes at her mother, looking at her with her warm eyes, trying to charm.

"We'll talk about it. Go get ready for bed, and I'll be there in a little bit." And the little girl is about to protest, but she knows better, she knows how to pick her fights, and her mother's tone is telling her, this is a losing one. With that she walks away, dragging her feet, for the dramatic effect.

"What are you doing here? You can't be here!"

"Hi." It's the first thing he says to her after fifteen years and she's just looking at him, stunned, lost in his eyes.

"You have a daughter?" He had imagined this moment a million times, and accounted for every single outcome, aside from this, aside from a little girl occupying her world.

"Yes." It's short. It's curt. It's distant. Like talking to a stranger. Telling them what they need to know, but no more. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" And she wants to say no, but she can't utter it. She's wanted this for years, she dreamed of it. She can't send him away, despite everything. "Livvie, please…" And with that she's gone, her mind made up. How does he have the same effect on her after all this time? She steps away and lets him through, lets him in, painfully aware that by closing the door, she's opening the floodgates to the past, ripping open the stiches that barely hold together her still gaping wounds; aware that letting him in is just giving him another chance to walk away. She's aware, but she can't turn him away. Clearly she hasn't suffered enough, she thinks to herself, refusing to look up.

"No one's called me that in years."

"I'm sorry, I can…"

"No, it's fine."

"So why are you here?"

"I'm sorry."

"Seriously? That's it."

"Yes."

"It's been fifteen years. It doesn't matter any more. You're married, you have kids, I have Zoey, it's in the past. It doesn't matter, not anymore." And she's barely pushing the words out. The lump in her throat is making it nearly impossible to speak, nearly impossible to breathe.

"I'm not married anymore. And it does matter. To me, it matters. I've spent fifteen years regretting that night, fifteen years of wanting to apologize."

And she chuckles, this can't be happening. No, she's not reliving it. "I'm not doing this."

"Livvie…" And he's walking over to her. He's in her personal space. He's pulling her in and bowing his head, their breaths hurried, the same. And her mind is racing, fighting, it's a battle in her head, reason pushing her to step away.

"No. You don't get to do this. You don't get to show up and say –Hi, and turn my world upside down. I don't want this. I don't want you. I moved on, I have a life. I don't want this." She's repeating it for herself, convincing herself, because she knows he's not buying it. "You don't get to come here and Livvie me, and do that thing where you make it impossible for me to think. You broke my heart, so no." And her voice is breaking. Damn it, she's losing her cool. She's coming apart at the seams.

"Mommy?" And the little girl is coming over, attaching herself to her leg, her eyes zooming between them.

"I'm fine. Mommy's fine. You ready for bed? Let's go tuck you in."

And with that she's leaving him, alone in her home; a place that was meant to be _their _home; that could have been _their_ home. There are photos on the wall, always only the two young ladies; there isn't a man. And he's relieved, he knows he shouldn't be, he has no right, but he is. She's changed; she looks different, but then also the same. She's as beautiful as he remembers, maybe even more; still taking his breath away, still oblivious to the effect she has. But then he sees it, and stops in his tracks; it's a sign. There's a photo of two hands, intertwined, resting on the grass; a photo he took, a photo he kept, until she stole it one day, and moved it to her place. It's a photo of them.

"It's a great photo." He didn't hear her come out. Her voice is different now – she sounds broken. She sounds like him.

"I'm sorry… for coming" She's looking at him, not saying anything, letting him breathe, letting the words form. He knows what it means. She's giving him a chance. A moment to explain, to tell her, to change her mind, to mend her heart. She's giving him a moment for them. She's giving him one last chance to speak, a chance to make her see. "I just needed to see you. My divorce was finalized this morning, and you're the only person I wanted to tell. After fifteen years, you're still… you, and I'm me, and I just needed to see you, I needed my best friend. I need you to understand. Because, this morning it seemed like we could be a possibility, it seemed like we could be a maybe. I'm so sorry. It was one night. It didn't mean anything. I was hurt, I was drunk, I was stupid. You hurt me and I wanted to hurt you back… but not like that, never like that. I was just… I'm sorry."

"Well you managed to hurt me back." She says with a scoff. There's resentment in her voice, he knows, she's trying, trying so desperately not to fall apart.

"I asked you to marry me and you said no. I was hurt, I…"

And she cuts him off. No, this is not on her; this, this is on him. "I didn't say no. I said not now, not then. I said take a step back, take a breath. We were young. We were too young."

"You just didn't love me enough." And there's defeat in his voice, brokenness, vulnerability she's never seen before. She's taken aback, it's poking holes in her hard exterior.

"Is that what you thought?" And he's just looking at the floor. "I loved you. I loved you enough. More than enough, I loved you too much. But I wasn't ready; I hadn't grown up. I just needed time. And instead of giving it to me, instead of letting us be, you broke us up. You decided we were done."

"I'm sorry it was a mistake."

"It wasn't a mistake. It was a choice. You married her. You chose her."

And his hear sinks, of course, that's what she thinks. "She got pregnant. That night, she got pregnant. And in our world, our families – there was no way out of it. But if you'd just stayed… I would have fought, I would have thrown it all away. But no, you just left me, you walked away, you didn't let me explain."

"You never came after me."

"I'm here now. We deserve another chance. We are worth another chance. I demand another chance."

And they're standing there, feet away, worlds apart. He's beginning her, and she's fighting him; fighting everything – every emotion in her being. She can't do this again. No, she was right, she loves him too much, but she doesn't trust him enough. He broke her and she could heal, but if he did it again, she would no longer be.

"I can't. Not again. It's too late. We are over."

"We are not over. We will never be over." He said it with quiet conviction, his confident smile letting her know he meant it, warning her about what lay ahead. He walked to the door, pausing briefly before turning around one last time, rushing back to where she stood, unable to move. He slowly lowered his head, holding her chin up and kissed her, softly, slowly – just a reminder, a promise. "I'm not giving up. I love you, I always have, and I always will. And I _will _get you back, I will _earn_ you again."

And with that he was closing the door behind him, leaving her stunned on the other side; leaving her feeling alive, more alive than she's felt in fifteen years, her fingers moving along her smiling lips.

* * *

**I hope you liked that, let me know if you'd be interested in reading more :)**


	2. Dancing in Circles

"Did you pack everything?"

"Yes mom." She answers in a high pitched voice, rolling her eyes.

"Hey what did we say about that?" She's trying to sound stern, parental, anything but amused.

"No eye-rolling on weekdays, and weekends before noon." The girl replies in a robotic monotone, then looks up at her mom, wide-eyed and smiles. She's trying to charm. "Did Tom call, can I go get the flowers from the lobby again?"

"Finish your breakfast first." And with that she's pushing a pancake face in front of her, with strawberry eyes and a banana smile.

"It's really nice of him to send you all those flowers. He must like you."

Olivia is desperate to change the topic of this conversation. She's successfully dodged it for the past two weeks, but Zoey's finally given up on subtlety.

"Grandma is coming tonight to hang out with you while I'm out, you remember right?"

"Yeah." A pointed look from her mother. An eye-roll. An apologetic smile. "Yes."

And then in her already-perfected know-it-all voice, "You're going with Edison, to his office party. You won't be back too late, but I have to be in bed in time anyway." Then a pause and, "Edison never sent you flowers." She says it while looking at her plate, innocently, but Olivia knows better.

"Look, I know you don't like him, because you think he's _boring_." She imitates her daughter's face, making them both chuckle. "But, he's nice. Boring is sometimes nice. It's good. It's normal. And you know, the reason he never sent me flowers – he never did something he'd need to apologize for." And as soon as the last statement is out, she regrets saying it, she knows what's coming.

"So what did Fitz do?" It took her a week to get Olivia to cough up his name, and in this particular moment Liv couldn't remember why she caved.

"You done with breakfast?" And she doesn't wait for an answer, she's taking the plate away. The girl can tell she's struck a cord, she's quiet, trying to think of what to say. "You can go down get the flowers from Tom now. And then we need to get you to school." With that she's slipping off the stool, running out, excited to see what her mom's admirer sent this time.

She comes into work, and there is another bouquet on her assistant's desk.

"It's the same card."

"Good morning to you too Quinn."

"I'm just saying that's one persistent guy."

"Any messages Quinn?"

"I mean, he's not even signing his name, just a Hi, and a phone number in case you want to thank him. That's smooth." And Olivia gives her a look, more like a death stare, really. Why is everyone so impressed, it's just flowers for God's sake. "OK. Sorry. None of my business. You have three messages from State, two from the Secretary General's office; one from the UNHCR, and your meeting got pushed to 10."

"Light morning then." And she sinks in her chair and starts firing instructions. It's going to be a long day.

* * *

"I forgot to ask, how was your ballet class?"

"Good." And she's bouncing as she walks, the way only kids do, before they learn how to contain their excitement, how to mask their feelings. "I finally managed to do a pirouette. And they're assigning roles for the Christmas recital next week."

"Zo, that's great. You have to show me that pirouette." And she's unlocking the door, they're finally home. She has an hour to get dressed and go to this event. She'd give anything not to, to stay home and have a girls' night; or just stay home and sleep, because Zoey was right, Edison is_ boring_. He could talk for hours, and she'd nod her head, uninterested to even try and understand, but he never knew, he never noticed, he'd just go on talking. Zoey pirouetting her way around the room, breaks her out of contemplating her impeding doom.

"Wow, that's really good." And with that the girl is stumbling to the floor, dizzy. And Liv can't help but laugh; this little girl, she's her entire life. "Maybe you could use a bit more practice. Now how about you get started on your homework, while I go get ready."

"OK. But can I pick out your dress?" And Liv gives her a suspicious look, this is about as enthusiastic as she's ever been about anything involving Edison.

"Sure. We'll pick something out when I shower. But, until then, homework, now."

And she's pulling her books out, and she leaves her to it, going to shower while compiling a mental list of things she would rather be doing that evening – staring at the blank wall, making it just above watching the Real Housewives.

As soon as her mother is out of the room, Zoey marches over to this morning's bouquet and takes the card. She thinks about it one more time, but pushes her doubts aside. She dials the number.

* * *

"Wow! Liv, you look great."

She's wearing a white, backless dress that fits her perfectly, kissing her curves in all the right places, and falling softly to the floor. She feels practically naked, but Zoey insisted that she wear it.

"Thanks. You don't look to bad yourself." She smiles weakly, and he smiles back, leading her inside, into a very long night.

The music is loud, but not her type; the food tastes expensive, but not very nice; and the company is impressive, but not people she likes. They're talking acquisitions and mergers, markets and stocks and she just occasionally nods. She wants to leave, but it would be rude, so she just stands there, suffocating in the normal, in the complacency, in the privilege and the elitism dominating the general mood. Then the song changes, and she can't breathe; she has to leave. But a voice behind her stops her in her tracks, sending chills down her spine.

"May I have this dance?" And she tries to take a deep breath, but the air isn't reaching her lungs, no, she's drowning on dry land. And she can feel him looking at her; she can feel his eyes on her skin; in every fiber of her being. She turns around slowly, trying not to look at him, but he's all she can see.

"Liv?" And Edison is breaking her trance, breaking the charm. "Oh, sorry, I should introduce you. Edison, this is Fitz; Fitz – Edison."

"Fitz, as in Fitzgerald Grant? The Pulitzer winner?"

And he is blushing. She can tell, he never liked public praise. "Yes, guilty as charged." And he fires a smile, she's almost gone.

"I loved your book. I actually got it from Liv. Well I took it. She wouldn't stop reading it, over and over again. So I took it, hoping to get my girlfriend" and she flinches "back, but then I started it, and couldn't put it down." He looks surprised, she can see it in his eyes. There's a smile, but there's also something else, there's a flash of guilt on his face. And when he speaks, he is talking to her, looking at her – it's all about her, he is about her. "It was actually inspired by Livvy's work." And she's stunned, that can't be right, he kept tabs; she _was_ on his mind. He's telling the truth. She can tell; she always could. And she looks away, trying to pull back the tears, she can't do this here.

"So, about that dance?" And she wants to protest, but Edison nods his head, and with that Fitz is guiding her to the dance floor. He spins her softly, then pulls her in, resting his hand on her naked back. His touch is like electricity, it sets her skin on fire, it numbs her mind.

"You remember this song."

"Of course I remember."

"I haven't listened to it in fifteen years." Her eyes are fixed to the floor, watching it spin beneath their feet.

"Look at me." And he's slipping his hand lower down her back, pulling her closer. "Livvy, look at me." And his face is an inch away, his breath burning her skin, his presence: overwhelming. She finally lifts her gaze, and she knows she can't stay away; not from him, not for much longer. He is bending his head down, his lips next to her ear, whispering, "I am so sorry." And he keeps saying it, it's a chant, a prayer, to be repeated until she hears, until she believes.

The song is over, and so is the moment. She steps away; tears at bay, emotions in check, and he knows he's lost her again.

Edison insists on taking her home, and she doesn't have the energy to fight him, she doesn't have the will.

"I didn't know you were friends."

"We're not."

"Sure looked like you were." And there's jealousy and accusation in his voice, and she knows he's right, but she needs an out, she wants an out – and no one is better at picking a fight than Olivia Pope.

"Well, looks can be deceiving."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means we're not having this discussion."

"Liv, you read his book like fifty times, he said you inspired it, yet you never even mentioned you even knew the guy. Don't you think that's a little bit strange."

"No, I don't."

"Olivia. You're not even pushing me away, because you never let me close, you never let me in. And for a while I thought that was fine, we were fine, because that's just who you are. But then one look at this guy, and you're coming apart at the seams. Talk to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about. And honestly, I don't have the energy for this right now." And he knows she doesn't mean the conversation. And he now knows he didn't lose her; he never had her.

Her mother greets her from the couch, as she's closing the door. "You're back early."

"I was tired."

"So, Zo mentioned something interesting when I asked about your flowers today."

"Is that so?" And her tone is clear, it's final, it's the end of the conversation. Or it would be, for anyone other than her mother. But not for her, she knows when to push, but not when to stop; she knows when to help, but not when to let go. And this, this she isn't letting go.

"She said it was a handsome man, the same one whose photo is on that book you're always dragging around. She said his name was Fitz." She's looking at her, waiting for an answer, but then proceeds, trying to read – her face, her eyes, the little signs. And then there's a sigh of contemplation, of understanding, of quiet revelation – "It is him."

"Yes." And her voice is shaky, a personal betrayal.

"He wants you back." It's not a question it's a statement, a beginning of a speech. "It's been fifteen years Olivia."

"He cheated on me!" She's almost yelling now, trying desperately to keep her voice in check. She can't wake Zoey up. Not like this, not again.

"It's been fifteen years."

"So what, that makes it OK? He broke my heart. He didn't just break it, he took it and I never got it back." Tears are rolling down her cheeks, she's saying things she thought she'd never speak. "He didn't like what I said, it hurt him and he just walked away. He didn't let me explain, he just… walked away. And then he slept with someone else. It was the one thing that he knew could break me, and he did it anyway. He broke me. He broke my heart and now he's here, he's everywhere, reminding me of what we never got to have."

Her mom is pulling her into an embrace, and they fall to the floor. She's wrapping her hands around Liv's head, pulling it into her chest. They stay that way for a while, until her sobs quiet down, and her breathing steadies; until her tears run dry. Then her mom pulls her face up, her hands on her cheeks. She looks into her daughter's eyes; the eyes she's never seen that broken, never that alive.

"He broke your heart. And I hate him for it. But I can hate him for it for both of us. He broke your heart, but you know, people move on. They mend the pieces, and they move on. People move on. But you, you never did. And neither did her. He broke your heart, and that broke his. You say he took your heart – well maybe it's time you let him give it back." And she kisses her forehead, and helps her up. "I love you and sleep tight."

But she doesn't. No, not that night. Instead she thinks of her mother's words. Maybe it_ is_ time.

* * *

**Hope you liked that. The next chapter will be all Olitz, and you'll find out more about Zoey (an no, Fitz isn't her dad).**

**And thank you for the follows and reviews :) **


	3. Finding the Light

The rain drops are hitting her office window with soft thumps; the rhythm increasing steadily as the storm outside rages on. The howling wind and the the sound of branches breaking outside shatter her focus, and she looks up for the first time in hours. It's dark outside, she lost all track of time. Zoey is with her mom, but she should head home anyway, just in case the girl is scared. She picks up her things absentmindedly, her mind has drifted to _him_. He's replaced flowers with popcorn and wine, including the same card every single time. It's no longer charming or cute, now it's too much, it's suffocating her; her thoughts are a blur. She needs time, and distance – concepts he seems unfamiliar with.

"Hold the door please." And she's running into the elevator, juggling her umbrella, bag and the latest tub of popcorn; trying desperately not to drop anything. "Thanks." And her gaze is met by a triumphant smile on his face. She's not charmed, or entertained; she's annoyed – why does he think this is a game?

"Really, Fitz? You're stalking me now? You need to stop. With the presents and the cards, and showing up places. You just need to stop. You're messing with my head, you're messing with my daughter's head and then you'll decide this was all a whim and leave. I mean, what you got a divorce in the morning and decided by the afternoon that you wanted me, so how long do you think that will last? How long do you think this new obsession of yours will go on for, before you're gone? Because one of these days I will give in, and I will use that card; just so that you can, once again, break my heart. So please, just stop. Just, leave me alone." And she says it all in one breath; never taking a break. Never blinking, never looking at him. She's exhausted by the end of it; it's exhausting, loving him.

"I had a meeting with David Rosen. I honestly didn't think I would run into you. I'm sorry. Not for this. I'm sorry for… well I guess everything." His eyes are fixed to the floor, but she can tell tears are pooling in them. The cracking of his voice is a giveaway; maybe after all, it's not just a game. And she's about to apologize, but there are no right words in her mind; they all seem to have escaped the moment he came back. Then, suddenly, everything is shaking, the lights are out and there's no humming sound. Electricity's gone, the elevator's stuck; no way out.

"Are you OK?" And he's trying to reach for her hand, but she pulls it away. The generators will kick in and they will be free; out of here.

"Fine." She drops her stuff to the floor, trying to find her phone, but it's not there; it's 20 floors away. "Damn it!"

"What's wrong?"

"I left my phone. Forgot it upstairs. I need to call Zoey, let her know I'm running late."

"Here, use mine." And he's taking it out, putting a number in, and handing it to her.

"I thought you didn't have my number. That explained the cards."

"No. I had it. Have it. I just didn't want to pressure you. I wanted you to call because you wanted to." And with that she feels even worse for yelling at him. She takes it slowly and smiles, not that he can see in the dark. But he does, he can still, to this day feel her smile. She can't get through, the lines are down, so she hangs up; and a photo replaces the numbers. It's him with his kids; they're all laughing. It looks like he was giving both of them a piggy-back ride at the same time. They have the same eyes – grey and blue, so warm, yet also icy cool. She realizes she's staring, and he's looking at her.

"That's Karen, and that's Gerry." He says somewhat unnecessarily. She knows, of course she knows; but he's trying to break the tension.

"They look like you." Her voice is soft, quiet, laced with nostalgia. Her walls are coming down, and he grabs the moment before she can get them back up. He sits down on the elevator floor, patting the ground next to him – "Sit with me Liv." She's sitting down, darkness all around, broken up only by the radiating light of the phone in her hand, illuminating them.

"So, tell me about them."

"Karen is 14. She's great. A brainiac, but really funny, witty. She's hilarious. And she knows the most random things. Like did you know that the biggest thing that a whale can swallow is an apple? Things like that. Things that make me smile. And Gerry, he's 12. He's really into art. He plays the piano and he's really good. And he makes these amazing collages, and these really cool installations. A lot of it is quite political as well. He's too smart for his age, I always tell him that. But he's not very academic. Which really bugs Mellie." And with that he stops. There's an awkward pause. He wishes he didn't mention her.

"You miss them."

"I do. But Mellie and I worked out a custody arrangement, so that they can stay with her, stay in school, and then I get them here for holidays." And with that he turns to her, looking directly into her eyes. "Liv, my divorce, me coming to see you, it wasn't a whim. It's been in the works for a while. We were never in love, we just waited for them to be old enough to understand, old enough for it to be OK. It wasn't a whim. You're not a current obsession. You're it. You've been it for me since the first time I saw you in Cafeteria. It's not a whim. And if you need time, if you need space – that's OK. But I, I'm not going away." She's holding his gaze, trying to will herself to look away; but she can't.

"I'm sorry. About that. About what I said. I don't want you to stop. I just need some time."

"Well time we've got." He breaks the gaze, and looks up, closing his eyes; finding her hand in the dark. "You always liked the dark. Even then, you could say things in the dark that you could never say otherwise. You'd say things in the dark, and then you'd shy away in the lights. Afraid I'd see you. But you know, I see you anyway. I see you even in the dark; I see you even when you hide; I see you." She doesn't know what to say. He doesn't just see her, he sees through her – and that, that is terrifying. It's also kind of magical; the way he sees _her_, and not the dark; the way he sees her as the light. So instead of speaking, she just puts her head on his shoulder; breathing him in.

"So, tell me about Zoey. She seems like a great kid."

"She is. She's… she's my everything. She's so smart that it scares me sometimes. And she's a great dancer. She loves to dance, she loves ballet. And one day, one day she wants to be the president."

He chuckles. "Sounds a lot like her mom."

"Yeah." There's unmistakable sadness in her voice, brokenness, cracks beneath the surface.

"Liv…"

"You want to know who her dad is."

"Not unless you want to tell me. I just… I'm trying to figure out who would be stupid enough to walk away from her, from you."

"He's dead. They're dead. Her parents are dead. I adopted her five years ago. They were in a car accident. Car vs. truck. Her mom was dead at the scene, dad died in surgery. She, somehow she survived, without a scratch. And she didn't have anyone. I met her at the hospital. Abby was having a baby and I was waiting for the news, and they brought in this little girl. And the social services weren't there yet, and she was scared. So I waited with her. I held her. She fell asleep in my arms. They told _me_ about her dad. She was too little to understand, but I was a grown up and I still didn't understand, how people can be gone in a blink of an eye. When DCF showed up she wouldn't let go, she didn't cry though, she just held on." Tears are streaming down her face and he's pulling her to his chest, into an embrace.

"Livvy…"

"She doesn't remember them. And I don't know how to talk about it, about them. I don't know things about them to tell her. Her parents are dead and all she's got is me. What if one day, I'm not enough?" She's telling him things, her fears, fears she was too scared to acknowledge are now out in the open, they're between them, no longer her own.

"You can never not be enough. If I ever made you feel that way, I am so sorry. But you were always enough, you are enough, you're the love of my life. And more importantly you're the love of that little girl's life. She's lucky to have you. And she loves you to the moon and back." She's quieting down; her breathing matching the rhythm of his heart – slow and steady. "You know, she's the one who told me about the party. She called me." And she's looking up, awe-struck. "All she wants is for you to be happy Liv, because you make her so happy every day. And trust me, there are plenty parents who wish they could say the same." He kisses her tears away. "OK?"

"OK." But she doesn't move. No she's perfectly happy where she is, the way she is – sitting quietly, next to him. Darkness surrounding them, taking away everything, letting them just be.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed that. This story is like my revision therapy. I really wanted Zoey's backstory to be different, I wanted Liv to have saved her in a way, and for her to have done the same. The next chapter is a mini time-jump, to see where they're headed after this. I have a lot of ideas for this story, so I was really never going to keep them apart for too long :)**

**And thanks for the reviews, I LOVE reading them. **


	4. Trust and other Fears

She called him the morning after their elevator-love-letter moment, to thank him for the popcorn that was, as ordinarily, delivered to her office. She didn't use the card, she already knew the number by heart. They started off slow, quick coffee breaks when she had a moment (his schedule was flexible, one of the perks of being a freelance journalist); the coffee breaks progressed into lunch breaks, and now they were having regular dinner dates. They weren't back to where they left things off, no that was fifteen years ago. They were adults now, all grown up, trying to find what once made them fall in love. She could still make him smile, _any_time. And he could make her laugh, using a single line. And they could challenge each other, in a way no one else could, in a way no one else cared enough to. They could talk for hours and not notice the time and they could sit in silence reading each other's mind.

"Tonight was perfect. Thank you." She's sitting on his couch, watching him bring over a bottle of wine and two glasses; her eyes taking in his every step.

"Really? You're not going to comment on that girl sitting next to us who kept screaming O-M-G every time she took a bite?"

"Hey, I'm trying to play nice. Besides, it was a great evening anyway. I was with you so even that hyperactive baboon couldn't ruin it." And she's leaning in and kissing him. Starting off soft, but quickly deepening. Her fingers are in his hair, she's climbing into his lap, his hands travelling down to her ass. And the clothes are coming off, he's reaching under the hem of her skit, and suddenly she freezes. She's panicking, why is this happening, _again_? And he stops instantly, looking at her, hurt, but mostly just concerned. And she's slipping off his lap, grabbing her shirt off the floor, standing up and walking towards the bathroom door.

"Liv. Are we not going to talk about this?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about." It's a lie, and she's lying to herself. She wants to pretend; pretend it will go away on its own, pretend she can control what's in her head. "I'm just not ready. I can't." And she drops her gaze. He walks over, and slowly lifts her head, "It's OK. Let's just watch a movie." And he makes her smile, weakly, barely, but it's still a smile.

The credits are rolling but she can't get up, no it's too perfect being in his arms.

"Lunch on Saturday?"

"Oh, I can't. My mom is away for the weekend, she can't watch Zoey. And I promised her we'd hang out."

"Zoey could come." And with that she's sitting up; gearing up for a fight.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Liv it's just a lunch. She's the most important person in your life, I just want to meet her."

"You've met her."

"A couple of times, when picking you up. It does not count."

"No." It's resolute. Final. Game over.

"No? What are you afraid of? That she'll hate me? If she does I can fix that, I can work for it, I don't mind working for it."

"She's not going to hate you, she likes you." She's quieter now, putting the ball down. "That's the problem."

"What? Why?"

"She's never met anyone I dated before, aside from Edison. But that was mostly because we were friends forever. And she really didn't like him, so when we broke up it didn't matter. But when we break up…" And she stops, his face making her realize what she just said.

"_When_ we break up?"

"That's not what I meant."

"It's what you said."

"Can we not do this now?"

"No, we are talking about this Olivia!"

"I don't want to have this discussion right now."

"Well that's too bad." And they're both yelling, fire in their eyes, it's battle time.

"Fine! She's nine years old. She's met you twice, and you charmed her just right, she thinks you hang the freaking stars. She likes you and she doesn't even know you. She'll love you Fitz. She will fall in love with you. And then when you walk away it will crush her. I can take it, I'm prepared; but she, she's not. She's nine years old."

And he's just staring at her, defeated. "_When_ I walk away? You're prepared for me to walk away." And there's a quiet break, he lets his mind race, until finally he realizes what it means. "Oh dear God, you're just waiting for me to bolt. That's why you freeze every time we start…" His eyes are suddenly dark, the grey light gone. "It comes back to this every time. You don't trust me. And I keep telling you I'm not going anywhere, I keep telling you, but you don't hear me. I can't do this any more. I can't push you anymore. I need you to see, I need you to believe – I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to stay." He's looking directly into her eyes, and she's looking back, and they stay like that, for what seems like hours, refusing to blink, refusing to be the weak-link. Finally she gives in. She looks down, taking a breath, trying to contemplate. She's trying to phrase how she feels; trying to explain that she wants him to wait, that she needs more time; that it will be fine, that they'll be fine. She wants to say it, but she can't, because somewhere in her mind, somewhere at the back, she's still afraid. Every time his hands slip under her dress and she reaches for his belt; every time she gives into the love, into desire, her guard goes down and the pain she can usually keep at bay; the betrayal she keeps in check; the image of _them_ – it all floods back. She wants to tell him they'll be fine, because it's all in her mind, but the thing is – it's not rational. She can't will her fears away, she can't keep them at bay. She can't hear his love, she needs to feel it; she needs to feel it more than she feels fear. So, instead of a reassurance, a proclamation she offers a justification, an explanation.

"I love you, but I don't trust you, and I want to. More than anything."

"But you can't"

"I should go." And he wants to stop her, to beg her to stay, but he knows that's not the way. No, she needs to _want_ to stay.

"Wait, I just. I have something for you."

"Fitz…"

"I was going to give it to you before you wen home tonight anyway."

"What is it?" He's shoving a large brown envelope in her hands, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"Just take it. And Liv… I wasn't going to bolt."

And she wants to say – I know, but all that comes out is a quiet "I love you", a whispered goodbye.

She gets home, her mom and Zoey, both asleep. She showers quickly and sits on her bed, takes a deep breath. Her hand hovers above the fold, and then she's opening the envelope.

He hasn't left the house the whole day, instead he sat on the couch and pined over the fact that she didn't stay. This time, _she_ walked away. There's a light knock on the door, but he's ignoring it, it's probably just someone else's delivery. But they're not giving up and he's semi-drunk, so he loses his temper and marches over, swinging the door open. "What?!"

And she's throwing herself in his arms, kissing him desperately, trying to touch every inch of him. And he's pushing her away, barely managing to say, "Liv, what are you…?"

"You found out her mom's favorite ice-cream flavor, and her favorite movies. And you found out about her dad's favorite band. You found out about their first date, and what her mom felt like on her wedding day. You found things about them. Things we don't have. Things that aren't photos and yearbooks, foreign and impersonal. You gave her memories, you gave her memories she can keep. You gave her feelings and moments, a way to know them." She's rushing through her words; the more she says, the more he'll understand just how much this meant. "

How did you even?"

"I'm a journalist Livvy. A fairly good one. I tracked her mom's best friend."

"But why would…?"

"It seemed important to you." And it's as simple as that.

She's kissing him again. Taking their clothes off, trying to find her way. But then he's lifting her, carrying her, guiding her. And as they stumble on the couch he looks at her, making sure, and she just nods her head – "I trust you." And she does. The fear, overcome by love.

They're lying intertwined, a sheer layer of sweat reflecting the moonlight; his hand drawing invisible lines along her arm; she's just taking in his eyes, the way they illuminate the dark.

"I spoke to Zoey. She'd like you to join us for lunch on Saturday." And with that they're falling asleep; they're falling in love.

* * *

**Thank you so much for the reviews and follows - you guys are such an inspiration.**

**The next chapter is "the lunch" and Zo's birthday, so really, just quite a bit of fluff. **


	5. Touching the Sky

**Here it is lovelies. It's basically mostly fluff, just because I finished my exam and had all this extra adrenaline and happiness. Fitz and Zoey bonding time. I hope you'll enjoy :)**

* * *

He is walking towards the restaurant where they're meant to meet and his legs feel wobbly, like a toddler taking its first steps. He can't remember the last time he was this nervous. Meeting presidents and prime ministers, interviewing war-lords and criminals, it all fades in comparison to the tightness of the knot in his stomach because of this particular nine year-old. He has kids, he's great with kids, kids love him. But she's not just any kid. From what he could tell she's wise beyond her age, she's perceptive and vocal, outspoken. She's not a nine year-old, she's a mini version of Liv, minus the filters that come with age. She could rip him to shreds if she doesn't like what he says, and she'd probably be right. Just about every time. He's terrified. He's terrified of a nine year-old. Liv thinks it's hilarious that he called her three times to ask what to wear, and if there are bands he should know, movies to talk about. She thinks it's hilarious, because Zoey already likes him and there's nothing to worry about, it's just a lunch. But here he is anyway, wobbling towards the restaurant, completely terrified. He sees them sitting at the table near the window. They're laughing. The kind of laughter that makes them close their eyes, throw their hands up over their mouths and makes their bodies shake; the kind that makes their stomachs hurt, a reminder to return, back to reality. But they don't, they never stop, they just carry on laughing. But then, Liv sees him and waves; he's going in – to sink or swim.

Zoey's looking at the tablecloth, feigning shyness, but stealing glances; looking at him under her lashes.

"Hey Zoey. Thanks for letting me crash your lunch." And she looks up, there's a light in her eyes, a weak smile – she approves of this recognition, of significance he attributed to her opinion.

"That's OK. It was my pleasure." And the weak smile is replaced by a wide, beaming one, stretching across her face, lighting up the entire place. It makes Liv laugh, but he's too busy being charmed.

"So, Fitz, mom said you have kids." It's not a hostile, or disapproving; it's actually quite moving, she seems to want to know more, about him, about them; she's looking for a way to connect, to find a common ground. So he talks about them for a little while, and she asks questions, not because she has to, but because she wants to. And then she tells him about school; and how she can pirouette; and there's a boy she likes – they shared lunch; and she talks about books, her other world, wonderful, but not quite as good, as this one. Liv lets them talk, occasionally joining, but mostly just enjoying, taking it in.

"Fitz…" And suddenly the confidence is gone from her voice, and she sounds like a child, like a little girl, for the first time since they've been introduced. "My birthday is in a few weeks."

"So, I've heard." And he's smiling, encouraging her to go on.

"Well, I was just wondering…" And now she's looking at Liv, who's nodding reassuringly. "Would you like to come to the party?"

And now his smile is wide, and so very child-like, Liv can't remember seeing him this excited. "I'm invited?" And she is nodding her head viciously, but never breaking the eye contact. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

And as suddenly as it was gone, her confidence is back; she's back to her usual self. "OK. But it's a theme party. So you have to come dressed up." And Liv can see him panicking, it's enchanting.

"Zo, why don't you tell Fitz what the theme is. I think he's freaking out." And both girls laugh.

"You have to come as your favorite iconic person." And there's a sigh of relief; this could actually be pretty fun.

"So who are you going as?"

"Rosa Parks." And she says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world; but he's taken aback, he was expecting a pop star, or a princess from centuries past, but not a nine year-old who wants to be Rosa Parks.

"Wow." Is all he can mutter. He's lost a beat, but she doesn't seem to notice, no, she's in her zone.

"Yeah. Mom got me this book of iconic women of twentieth century for my birthday two years ago. And she's my favorite. I think. Although I really like Amelia Earhart as well."

"What do you like about her?"

"That she could fly. She wasn't afraid to go all the way up to the sky." He's completely lost in the little girl's voice, in her mind; overwhelmed by the fact that Liv brought her up, all alone, on her own.

"Zo, we should head to the fair. It's getting late." And he doesn't want to go, doesn't want this to end. But he doesn't want to push, he's letting her set the pace. But then Zoey chimes in, saving him.

"Can Fitz come with us?" And they're both looking up, all-puppy-eyes; tyring to break her down.

"I'm sure Fitz has things he needs to do." And it's not a question, it's a warning, but he chooses to ignore it.

"No actually, I don't have any plans." And she shoots him a look, but then she smiles; deep down she's actually glad.

As the winter day winds down, and the sun sets, they walk hand in hand, flashing fairy-lights reflected in their eyes. They stay out well into the night, and as they're heading home he picks her up, and she falls asleep in his arms. And Liv is walking next to him, her hand brushing his cheek; she's in love with this, she's in love with him.

"So who gets their eight year-old a book about iconic women of the twentieth century?"

"She was upset she didn't get cast as the princess in her ballet recital, so I got her the book and explained that princesses get saved, and it's so much cooler to be the one that does the saving." And the thing is, it's such a Liv thing to say, such a Liv thing to do, to fix a problem by opening up a whole new world. He's been in love with her forever, since he can remember, but today, seeing her, seeing the little girl, he knows – this is it, for him, from now to eternity, this is everything.

And he lowers Zoey slowly onto the bed, but she never awakes, just slightly shuffles and sleepily says, "Thank you. You're OK." And Liv smiles at him, it's a compliment, he passed the test. They tuck her in and leave the room, her hand around his waist, her head against his chest.

"I should go." He wants to stay, but he can't, it would be too much for one day.

"You should." And she wants to say stay, but she can't it would be too much for one day.

He picks up his coat and heads for the door, but then she pulls him back, "One minute." He nods his head, and they stand, just stand. For a minute they're alone in the universe, for a minute they're in a perfect place, for a minute their love is the only truth, for a minute they're each other's world. And then he leaves, but it's OK, because they have a lifetime of minutes waiting for them.

* * *

"So the party is tomorrow at 4, right?"

"Yes, at the park, so we have to be there early to set it up."

"I have a surprise for you. Well for Zoey really, but you can come too."

"What is it?"

"Do you not understand the concept of a surprise?"

"Fitz…" And he stops her with a kiss.

"I'm not telling you."

He picks them up at 10 the next morning. Zoey runs into his arms, leaving Liv, feigning offence, behind.

"So where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"But can't you just…?"

"You're just like your mother, anyone ever tell you that?"

"All the time." And there it is, her signature smile.

They drive for a couple of hours, the roads getting narrower and trees getting thicker, until finally they're in the clear. And Zoey sees it first, and there's a gasp and a wow, and "It's a plane!"

And she's jumping out of the car, before they're even fully parked, and Liv is trying to catch up, trying to get her to come back; but Fitz catches her first, lifting her off the ground, spinning her around. Liv is finally there, and her hand is playfully covering Zoey's eyes as she kisses him, she can't believe he did this.

Suddenly Zoey asks, all panicky, "But where's the pilot."

"Oh, we don't need one."

"So we're not going to fly?" And she's trying to keep up the smile, but he can tell she's trying not to cry.

"Of course we are. _We_ are going to fly." She looks confused and Liv jumps in, wanting to bring back her grin.

"Zo, Fitz is a pilot. He was in the Navy before law school. He can fly." And with that the little girls eyes are three times their natural size and her affection for him reaches new heights, he's superhero material now.

He takes her little hand in his, and guides her to the cockpit. "Let's go Amelia. Today you get to touch the sky."

They're taking off, and flying up, flying high. Below them specs of life, looking so orderly, so perfectly clear. And in that moment it is: he's her it, from now to eternity, this is everything. The sky is magical, the way clouds dissolve, the way they pass, the way they come together again, changed, yet somehow the same.

The rest of the day is great. She tells everyone about their flight, she tells everyone she's touched the sky. She's a ten year-old someone cared enough, loved enough to show that it's possible, that it can be done. And she asks him to tuck her in, and she kisses his cheek – he's everything her dad couldn't be; he's everything she's dreamed. And Liv can see, she can see her daughter falling for him. She's happy, but she's also scared – what if they make a mistake and it breaks the little girl's heart. She pushes the thoughts away, he's here to stay, he's not going away, this is not a mistake.

"I should go."

"You should…" And she takes a breath; this is it, the final step of letting him in, "you should stay."

"Are you sure?" And she nods her head, takes his hand and walks him over to _their_ bed.

The next morning they're making breakfast. His hands are around her waist, he's kissing her neck, she's playfully pushing them away. And she realizes Zoey's there, and she freezes for a second, maybe she was wrong, maybe she should have let him go; but then the girl smiles, and it's a smile that reaches her eyes. And with that they start the first morning of the rest of their lives.

* * *

**I hope you liked that. Thanks for the reviews and your support and interest in the story, seriously it's amazing and SO inspiring. The next chapter is a bit more angsty, so get ready for the ride. Until next time :)**


	6. The D- Word

"Zo, come out, let us see." She's sitting on the floor, needle with a thread, ready to go, in her hand; little pots of pastel beads sprawled on the floor in front of her; she's in full-on mom mode. He's in the kitchen, making dinner, glancing over the counter, trying to see what's happening. Zoey comes out, and they both make a whistling sound. "Do you like it?"

And there's no need for her to reply, her smile is a sufficient sign, and she's nodding her head ferociously, before lounging herself at Liv, hugging tightly.

"Thank you. It's perfect!"

"It's not too tight? Because if it is, I can loosen it up. I need you to be comfortable."

"It's perfect."

"Should I add a few more beads?" And she sees she's hit the mark, she's lit a spark.

"Can we?"

"Of course honey. You're the Sugar Plum Fairy, we will bedazzle the he-" and Zo's eyeing, smiling, waiting for her to say it, to break the mom-code, but she swallows the_ Ls_ and improvises the _hell_ out of the sentence, "We will bedazzle the hem of the skirt."

"You will bedazzle the hem?" And he's smirking, he loves it when she slips up, the occasional imperfections making up for the perfect life. And Zoey cracks up, she loves having him around – he's fun. And he already knows the foods she hates, and the friends she likes, he knows the boy's name and her favorite dance class. She loves having him there; she loves that he cares.

"Both of you – shush! You, go change for dinner, and we'll _bedazzle the hem after_. And you, get back to dinner, I think I can smell something burning."

And Zoey disappears into her room, quite literally skipping, while she joins him in the kitchen.

"That actually smells really good." She's eyeing him, thinking of all kinds of things, food excluded.

"What?"

"Nothin'. I just like watching you cook. You look good. It's giving me all sorts of ideas."

"Oh yeah?" And he's stepping closer to her, she can feel his breath on her bare shoulder, his hands wrapping around her back and then slipping lower. "What kinds of ideas?" And she squeezes his ass, and she can see his eyes, they change their color; suddenly dark.

And she entangles her fingers through his hair, brushing them lightly against his scalp. She steps up, on her toes, and whispers in a seductive tone, "Oh, just that I really need to update my pot collection." And she's slipping from his embrace, and he groans in pain.

"That was just unfair."

"Payback for the hem comment." She says with a flick of her hair, while biting her lip, swirling her hips. She knows what she's doing. "If you behave during dinner I might –" And Zoey's out, so she just flashes him a smile, and there was definitely a wink, or was that in his head – he can't think.

"So, Zoey, tomorrow at 6 right?" He needs to re-rout his mind.

"Yes, 6 tomorrow. And then, dinner after right?" There's a hopeful smile.

"Yes, I'm taking the three Pope ladies out."

"And we can finalize our Christmas and New Year's Eve plans." She was never a big fan of holidays, but when she got Zoey things had to change. So she adjusted her attitude, she got into the holiday mood. But this year is different. She's not excited because she should be, because she needs to be; no she's excited because they feel like a family, because it all feels like a dream.

* * *

She's packing Zoey's stuff. They have to be there hours in advance. It's a madhouse. Her phone is ringing, she's digging through her purse, it's like chasing a wild goose.

"Hey." One word is all it takes.

"What's wrong?"

"Karen fell off her horse." And she stops. For a second her stomach is a bottomless pit, her mind a blank slate; but then she pulls herself together, and pushes the words out.

"Is she…?"

"She's OK. I mean she broke her arm, but other than that she's alright. Just traumatized. They're keeping her overnight in the hospital."

And she can breathe out. A sigh. Relief. A moment in time. Happy. But, then, the wheels start turning, the bulbs in her mind are burning – she understands. "You're flying to California." It's not a question, she knows. His silence spoke.

"I have to."

"I know." And she does.

But then, "Tell Zoey…" and she doesn't hear the rest. Zoey. The ten year-old who spent the last two weeks gushing about him coming, night and day, to all her friends; the ten year-old who's expecting him, waiting impatiently. The ten year-old, who for all her wisdom and brains, will not understand that this doesn't mean he doesn't care. He's saying things. Things to say, apologies to make – but she knows; she's going to break, her ten year-old is going to break and there's no apology to be made.

"I have to go." And suddenly her voice is cold. It's not intentional. It's instinct. It's protection.

"Liv-"

"Hug Karen for me." And with that she's hanging up, picking up the stuff, calling Zoey and heading out. She doesn't have time to fall apart.

And the recital is about to start, she's heading in just to say good luck, but at the door she stops in her tracks.

"So is he like your new dad?"

"I don't know. I mean what do dads do?"

"Well they take you places. And they buy you things. And they let you have the last of the chicken wings; and then they sneak you some candy. And they're fun. And they like to spin you around. And they come for things. And they make you feel like you're more important than anything."

And Zoey considers it for a moment, and then proudly proclaims – "I guess then he's kind of like my dad."

And it breaks Liv's heart. But, once again she shoves it aside and knocks on the door, pushing it in, entering. "I just wanted to say good luck."

"Thanks mom! Fitz here?"

"I just saw Aaron. He makes a very handsome prince." She's avoiding, deflecting, secretly praying that it works. And it does, the girls are chuckling, Zoey dragging out a whiney – "Moooooom."

She's back in her seat, her mother looking at her quizzically. "I couldn't tell her. Later." And the curtain goes up – it's showtime.

"You were amazing Zo!" And she's running into her arms, wrapping her little hands around her neck, holding on tight; but then she looks up, scanning the room.

"Where's Fitz."

"Oh, honey. He couldn't make it. Karen broke her arm, and she's in the hospital, so he had to fly to California. He said he's thinking of you though." And she can see her shutting away, trying to be OK, barely keeping the tears at bay. "We can still go for dinner, if you want to? Grans, you and I." She's hoping to solicit a smile, but she gets a weak curl of the lips instead, she's in her personal hell.

"No, that's OK. I'm not hungry anyway."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, let's just go home."

And she barely speaks, she barely breathes, she's taking it in – the realization that she's not the most important thing. They get home and she crawls straight into bed, her mom's chest rising and falling rhythmically under her head. She's kissing her temple and soothing her hair, trying to show her she's loved, trying to show her someone cares. She speaks for the first time since they came back, and the last time before she surrenders to the bed, "He's missing Christmas too, isn't he?"

It's late when she finally leaves the girl's side, only after she's been asleep for a long while. She checks her phone and there are four missed calls, and a few pleas to call him back, they need to talk.

"Hi. You called." A sigh of relief.

"Hi." And there's a pregnant pause, crossroads; neither sure of what to say, when there's so much to explain, so much to understand and comprehend. They were in their bubble for a while, and it burst; under the pressure of the world. They were childish and immature, she understands that now – they were selfish; loving first, thinking with their hearts, not their heads; believing love will make it all OK.

"How was it?"

"It was good. She was great. You would have loved her."

"Can I talk to her?"

"She's asleep."

"Didn't go for dinner?"

"No, she wasn't hungry." They're tiptoeing around it, circling the drain.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"But?"

"But, nothing."

"Liv. Come on."

"Fine. But, the fact that you're sorry doesn't make me feel any better. I can't believe I did this to her."

"Oh, come on. It's one time. She'll be fine."

"No, she won't. Because this afternoon she thought you could be her dad, and now she thinks she's not a priority. She's crushed. And it's my fault. I knew, I knew it in my gut that she was getting too attached, but I was so happy, so in love with this idea of us, of a family, that I just let it be. I let it be, and now she's crushed."

He doesn't know what to say. He's stunned. He hadn't realized. He knew she got attached, but he never realized how much. He never thought she could need anything, anything other than Liv, let alone him.

"Karen fell off a horse." And he doesn't know why he's saying it, it sounds like a justification, an explanation – but he doesn't know what he's trying to say, trying to explain.

"I know. And she's your priority. Your kids are your priority. And that's fine; it's as it should be. But she, she's my everything. Fitz, she's my priority. And being second-best, feeling second-best, I can't put her through that."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know. I should go." She's waving her head, tears rolling down her cheeks; she's tired and she can't do this.

"Liv, we can't just leave thinks this way. We need to-"

"No, I'm tired and upset. And I don't want to say or do anything I'll regret. I just, please, I just need to sleep. It's been a long day. How's Karen?"

"She's OK."

"Good." It's warm, not curt; soft, but sad; she sounds hurt, not mad.

"Livvy."

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I know. I love you too." And she hangs up, before she can say – "I wish that was enough." And she does. She wishes it were simpler; she wishes she said yes 15 years ago; she wishes she never walked away; she wishes she fought and stayed. But he wouldn't have his kids, and she wouldn't have Zoey, and maybe life would have torn them apart anyway. Maybe sometimes love is just a losing battle, sometimes fate wins anyway, no matter how hard you try to get away. She wishes things were different; she wishes Zoey was less like her, less insecure; she wishes she could give her everything, every little thing she needs; she wishes she could make her believe she is a priority, more important than anything. But she knows the only way she'll truly believe is if she picks her above everything; if she picks her over him. It has to end. But first, she has to sleep – before shattering her family, shattering her dream.

* * *

**So writing this, especially Zoey parts broke my heart. But, before you freak out - I am not pulling a Shonda on you and breaking them up after like two chapters of fluff. Olitz is not just the endgame, they're my "hallelujah, heroin and reason to breathe" to borrow a quote from Cyrus. Liv's tired, emotions are running high, and clearly they have issues they need to work out. He does have a family and kids, and I've intentionally kept that in the background for a bit, but it's something they really need to address. Having said that, I'm usually a few chapters ahead when I write, so really - do not freak out. **

**Thanks for the reviews lovelies, I enjoy reading every single one of them, you're so amazingly great!**


	7. The F- Word

It's 6am and she's barely slept. She's been drifting in and out of consciousness for a few hours, afraid of her dreams is she were to fall asleep. Afraid that seeing him, even in a dream would take away her clarity. Her phone is buzzing and she knows it's him. She doesn't want to answer, no not yet, she needs a few more hours to pretend. She needs more time to make up her mind, to commit to her choice, to come to terms with what she's about to do. But deep down she knows that's not why she wants the time – she wants him to do something to change her mind. So she picks up, painfully aware that if she doesn't do it now, this instant, she'll back out.

"Hi." There's relief in his sigh.

"Why aren't you asleep? It's 3 am in Santa Barbara."

"I couldn't sleep. Not after the way we left things."

"I think we should take a break."

"No."

"This isn't a negotiation. You came here and you swept me of my feet, and I loved it. I loved every second of it. But we were reckless, we wanted to pretend, that you are mine to have, that this isn't complicated, that we can make it work, that our kids will be fine, they'll fit in, around our whims. But you have a family, and they're your priority. And I was, I am OK with that, I'm perfectly happy in the second place. But Zoey's not, and I never want her to be. It's my job to protect her, to make sure she's built up with enough love so that life can't tear her down."

"You done?"

"Fitz-"

"No. Now it's my turn to speak." And he breathes in; he knows this is it, the one chance to change her mind, to pull her to his side, over the battle line. "I don't want a break. I don't need time or space to know how I feel, or what I want. I _am_ yours to have, and this _is_ complicated, but we can make it work. And our kids _will_ be fine, they _will_ fit in, because Liv, this, us, it's not a whim, it's the real thing. And I do have a family, and _you_ are my priority. You are part of my family Liv. You and Zoey. Karen fell off a horse, and she was in the hospital. I had to go see her. It wasn't Karen over Zoey, it was hospital over the recital. It would have been the same choice if it was the other way around. For any of the kids. I love Zoey. And not because I love you, but because I love her, for her. She's amazing. She's so smart, and she's witty, quick. She's wise. And she loves with a full heart, she makes you feel loved. And she has the most amazing smile, it lights up the room, the way yours does too. She's not the second best, she's not in the second place, it's not a race, there isn't limited space in my heart, in my life. It wasn't Karen over Zoey Liv, it was hospital over recital." And he's done. He doesn't know what else to say. He should have said it yesterday, but his mind was clouded, guilt kicking reason to the curb. His _girls _were hurt and he lost clarity, for a moment he couldn't see; but now he knows what she needs to hear; he knows how to take away the fear. Or so he thinks, but she's quiet on the other line, breathing the only sign _they_ are still alive. "Livvy?"

"It was hospital over the recital?"

"It was hospital over the recital." He confirms with a smile. He can almost hear her mind, racing, chasing the scattered thoughts, weaving through the patchwork of dreams to try and see if this is reality.

"We're a family." And it's no longer a question for him, it's a statement for her. She smiles, tears getting stuck in the corner of her smile.

"Yeah, we're a family." And for a moment they just breathe comfortably, chests rising rhythmically; miles apart but currently a single mind, one life, one love.

"Mom?" And Zoey breaks her out of the moment. She looks up, concerned, but the girl looks fine, all messy hair and sleepy eyes; there's definitely a semblance of a smile. "Is that Fitz?" And Liv nods her head. "Can I talk to him please?" He hears and softly whispers, "Let me talk to her Liv." She hands over the phone, but not before making the girl get in bed, wrapping her hands around her, pulling her in.

"Hey. Shouldn't you be asleep. It's 3 am in Santa Barbara."

"Someone's learned her time zones since last time." And she smiles.

"I read your email." And Liv is looking at her, trying to read her face, how could he not tell her he sent an email. "I'm not mad."

"You're not?"

"Nope. I was a little bit sad, but then I read it this morning, and then it was OK."

"You know I wouldn't have missed it for anything else in the world?"

"Aside from Gerry getting hurt." She's teasing; she's calling him out; she chuckles.

"Well, yes, aside from that." He's smiling. She's joking, it's her way of letting him know she really is OK, they are OK. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know." And the truth is – she does. "I'll see you after the Holidays?"

"Yes."

"OK. You should go to sleep." And he smiles, she truly is like her mom.

"Can you put your mom on the phone, just for a second please?"

"Hey. You should listen to her and go to sleep. You said she's a smart kid."

"She is, the smartest. I just wanted to say I love you."

"You too." And by the time she hangs up Zoey's back asleep, her little arms draped around Liv. She smiles, there was a spark in the girl's eyes when she handed over the phone, a spark that had gone dark last night. She smiles, but then there's a nagging feeling in her gut. Is she making the same mistake again, letting her daughter get attached, giving him another chance to break her heart, another chance to dim the spark. She inhales, but the air doesn't fill her lungs, no it's lodged in her throat. She closes her eyes and it takes her just a moment to realize – they're a family. Finally she can breathe. This isn't a mistake; and if it is, it's the one she's willing to make. It's the risk she's willing to take. And it's not selfish, or reckless or immature; it's the best thing to do, not just for her, but for Zoey too. Because pushing him away, not letting him stay, it's not just breaking her, it's breaking Zoey's heart too.

* * *

"Zoey who have you been texting the whole night? First you make me go out, for New Year's Eve, in Times Square. I can't believe I agreed. I mean what kind of a mother lets her ten year-old talk her into this?" And she's talking to herself, the girl not paying attention to her fit. "Well apparently the kind that also lets her ten year-old ignore her while she's having a mental meltdown."

"Sorry, did you say something mom?"

"Wasn't this teenage phase meant to start years from now? Or you know, possibly never?" She's looking at her daughter, but all she sees is the top of her head, her phone glued to her nose, her fingers typing away ferociously. It's too loud, and too crowded, too everything for Liv's liking. But Zoey insisted that they come, that she get out of the house. They had a quiet Christmas. Nothing much; they were saving their best stuff for Fitz, they were going to have a do-over, holidays volume two. So although she'd rather be curled up in bed right now, watching TV, she's standing here, freezing, staring at the top of her daughter's head; trying to compensate for the disappointment of the past days. And she's cranky. She hasn't spoken to him today. He said he was going to be out of cellphone range, something about going to a friend's place, and she said it was fine – but she missed him, and she wanted to hear his voice, hear that baritone. So when they start the countdown, she's relieved, she can almost go home, to the quiet, to the warmth. And Zoey finally lifts her gaze up, but not to look at the ball, her eyes are whizzing around, looking for someone in the crowd. "Zo, what's wrong?"

"What?"

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just looking."

"What for, look at the ball." And she points up, somewhat unnecessarily. And the numbers are winding down, the time is running out, the new year, full of possibilities is swooping in. And the crowd is speaking in a voice of one, counting down the seconds until the moment of the goodbye and hello, until the new takes over the old.

Nine.

"Hi." And she swears she hears his voice, but it's crazy, it's just in her head.

Eight.

But then there's a hand on the small of her back.

Seven.

And she turns around.

Six.

And he's staring her down.

Five.

And a smile stretches over his lips.

Four.

He leans in.

Three.

They're meeting halfway.

Two.

And they breathe in, together, in sync.

One.

And they're closing their eyes and let their lips crash. Her hands are around his neck, playing with the base of his hair. And his are wrapped around her waist, holding on tightly, guarding against escape. And it's a second, no it's a life, there's no real measure of time. They pull away, and for a moment they just stare, taking in the things their eyes need to say. And then he's bending down, picking Zoey up, they're both kissing her, showing her how much she's loved. And hand in hand, they're walking into the night. Into new year, a new life.

* * *

A/N: So they're sort of back on track :) The next chapter is finally Grant kids meeting Liv and Zo.


	8. Worlds Colliding

She's standing in the kitchen chopping, the knife hitting the board with a loud thump every single time. She's made her way though two bowls of strawberries, a couple of melons and has now moved on to cucumbers. She's been up for a few hours, before the sun had even dared light up the horizon; even now, it's barely upsetting the dark of the warm April night. She's chopping, it calms her down, and she _needs_ to calm down, so she's standing in the kitchen, harassing the chopping board.

"Liv?" He's up. He's rubbing his eyes, trying to adjust to the light, his hair a mess, the curls are completely out of place. She loves it that way, especially since it's her doing. "Why are you up?"

"Oh, I just couldn't sleep. So I thought I'd start preparing some snacks, for tonight."

"For an army?"

"You're funny. You're a funny man. I especially love how funny you are in the mornings, before I've had my coffee."

"Livvy…" He walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her midsection, his head resting gently on her shoulder. "Put the knife down, and come back to bed."

"I can't. I really need to finish this." She knows, she's aware, of how ridiculous she sounds; how insane, but in that particular moment, she doesn't care.

'Livvy, they're going to love you." And she slows down, hitting the board a couple more times, before finally stopping, and looking up.

"What if they don't?"

"How could they not?" And he slowly pulls the knife out of her hand, and starts kissing her neck. "You're funny." And he kisses the other side. "And smart." And he's working his way down. "And you're a great mom." And his hand is moving up under her shirt. "And you're beautiful." And he's turning her, lifting her up on the kitchen counter, peppering kisses along her collarbone. "And you're sexy."

"Your kids are going to love me because I'm sexy?" Her voice soft, lost.

"Nah, guess that's just me." And he's back to nibbling her neck, but she's pulling his head away.

"We can't do this right now. Zoey could come out."

"She's asleep." Her hand rubbing his chest is really not helping him see her way. But then her hand is gone, and she's slipping off the counter, out of his embrace. He instantly feels her absence, the emptiness. But as she's walking away, she's pulling her shirt off, and slowly turns her head, just enough to see his shocked face out of the corner of her eye. "I'll see you in the shower, Mr Grant." And with that she's gone, and he's almost undone.

* * *

"Dad!" He can hear them, before he can see them – they're in a river of passengers, coming his way. But two smiling faces stand out from the crowd, and then they're running to him and lunging into his arms. He's kissing their heads, taking them in, remembering their smell, their grins.

"God, I've missed you guys so much." He's walking in the middle, a Grant child on each side, his hands draped around their shoulders, holding tight.

"We missed you too dad." And Karen's arm is wrapped around his waist and her head is tucked under his arm; she's glued to his side. Gerry's trying to walk tall, to act grown up – he's hit the thir_teen_ mark, but he's also holding on tight, not trying to wiggle out of the hug.

"So where are we going?" And he knows what she's asking him, there's a loaded question behind her grin.

"We're going to my place. So that _we_ can catch up, so that you can unpack and settle down. And then we'll go to Liv's for dinner."

"OK." She doesn't sound convinced, he knows she's not thrilled. The separation's been taking its toll on her; she's a daddy's girl, so not having him around has been difficult. He knows she's trying to pretend that she's OK, that she doesn't mind, that she's happy he's got a new life, but he knows his daughter and her eyes break his heart. She's quiet the entire ride home, staring out the window. Gerry's chatter filling up the air, filling in the silence. And as soon as he's through the door, Gerry dumps his backpack on the floor and disappears into his room, trying to decide how to decorate the walls. Karen stands in the doorway for a second, she needs a moment, a little bit of time, to wrap her mind around this, the flat, the fact it's his home, not theirs. He shows her to her room and she makes an excuse – she needs to call her boyfriend (and he makes a mental note to do all kinds of checks on this kid, employ all of his journalistic ability). He gives her some time, but then he's knocking on her door, asking to be let in, asking to talk to him.

"Kare, you've been quiet all day."

"Well we've only been here for 2 hours, so you wouldn't really know what I've been like, would you." Her voice has a funny shade – it's almost petulant. Juvenile; reminding him that for all her efforts she's still a child.

"So you're upset that I'm not around." It's a simple statement, but a complicated thought; it's a crack that she can't mask; a failure on his part; a failure tearing him apart.

"I'm not upset, I'm fine."

"Karen." And he's sitting next to her on the bed, slowly pulling her head into his chest.

"Don't." But she doesn't fight him.

"We don't have to go tonight if you don't want to. I can call Liv and cancel. It's OK."

"No, you want to go. You want us to meet her."

"Not if you don't want to."

"I don't mind." And it's a lie, but he lets it slide, because he does want them to go, he does want them to meet Liv, to meet Zoey; he wants them to realize that they could be a part of this life, that he wants them in this life.

They're standing in front of the door, all polished-shoes, and tucked-in shirts. Gerry's fidgeting, and Karen's smiling, trying to reassure him – she's fine. His hand is securely wrapped around her just the same, reassuring her he's still there, he will be there. And on the other side Olivia is trying to breathe, inhaling deep; closing her eyes, trying to calm down as Zoey gently squeezes her hand – "It's going to be OK." And she kisses the top of her daughter's head, and lets her take a step back. She's pushing down the handle, opening the door, two worlds apart no more.

It's awkward at first. There are small silences when the conversation fades. And little nuances, the shades of grey – what to do, what to say, is everything OK, is everyone OK. Karen is quiet, not sulking or pouting, just taking her time. She's taking it all in. Liv's place; the glass wall, with the magical view; the way city lights illuminate her flat; the way it's all one big room, no unnecessary walls, no broken up space, everything is in one place. Bedrooms the only pockets of intimacy, everything else is just togetherness, family space. She loves it, it's the perfect home; not for its immaculacy, or its class, but for the way it makes you feel like you're a part; like you belong, like you have all along.

Liv walks up to her, as she's looking down at the moving specs of life on the ground, and she stands next to her in silence, letting her feel her presence, before speaking up. "Thank you for coming."

And she's taken aback. She expected a speech, an "I love him", a justification, clarification; she expected courting and flattering; she expected a lot of things, but not this. Not gratitude just for showing up – she's been taught you get thanks for something you've done. She didn't expect this confidence, this air of assurance. And there's no need for an "I love him" it's in their every look, in her every move; there's no need for a justification or a clarification, they're meant to be, that much even she can see. There's no need to court and flatter, because she's got time, she's in this for a long run, and Karen likes that. She likes that she's confident, but not conceited; that she's assured, but not arrogant; she likes that she seems like a great mom. She likes her, and it stings, deep down, a little bit. But she looks up, into the stranger's eyes, this women who's now in her life, and she can't help but smile. "I'm glad I have.", is all she says. But it's enough, it's a start.

"I'll go help your dad clean up." And she turns around, leaving the teenager looking out, observing the specs of life on the ground. The way they come together, and move apart; the way there's light, the way there's love; the way it all makes sense when you're just looking; the way it fits; the way life just clicks.

And they're there for their entire holiday, the whole 10 days. By the end of it Gerry and Zoey are attached at the hip, and Karen is in love with Liv. She loves the way she talks to her like she's a grown up; the way they debate; she loves her clothes, and her style; she loves that she always seems to have time, for her, for them. She loves that she's so different from her mom, so incomparable; not trying to be a replacement, not trying to over-compensate. But most of all, she loves the way Liv knows when to step back, when to give her space; she loves that she takes the kids away and gives her some time with her dad; she loves that she gives them time.

They're at the airport and it's the final call. They hate leaving and he hates letting them go. The hugs are tight and drawn out. They're leaving, but then Karen runs back. She's on her toes and whispering in his ear, "I like her dad. You should use that ring." She smiles and with that they're gone.

He comes home – empty and quiet, he feels their absence; he hates their absence. But there's a figure; her side leaning against the window; looking out as the colors of dusk are being replaced by the lights. He smiles, of course she's come.

"Hi." And she turns around, the sound of his voice breaking her out.

"Hi."

"What re you doing here?" He's walking over to her – he needs to hold her, let her hold him.

"I thought you could use the company."

"Where's Zoey?"

"My mom's." And he's in front of her; her arms reaching for his neck; slowly pulling his head into her chest. And there's a quiet sob; a sharp inhale of breath; but she just holds on, never letting go. She's running her fingers through his hair. His breathing steadies: she's his air. She's whispering, "It's OK. They'll be back."

The thing about worlds colliding – it changes them; makes them shift; changes their trajectory. Pieces, when they fit together perfectly – they form a whole, and pulling it apart hurts more than he could have known, more than he wanted to know. The thing about him, having his family, everyone in one place – it showed him a dream he can't chase, a glimpse into a far-away place. But she's here, and they'll be back. And as he slowly moves up to kiss her neck, he thinks of what Karen had said.

* * *

**A/N: For Oxford – I guess I just wanted to reply to your comment on the last chapter, because I feel it goes to the heart of the story. The short answer is, no Olivia doesn't mind being in the second place. And there are two reasons for that. Firstly, because Fitz is her second priority too. She was going to break up with him, for Zoey's sake, and she repeatedly says that Zo is always in her first place, and it's the most important thing in her life. So as a parent she understands where Fitz is coming from. The second reason, and this is just my characterization of Liv in this story; even if she didn't have Zoey, him choosing his kids wouldn't be a problem. Kids don't choose to be born, their parents choose to have them, and that means kids should always be their priority. I don't mean that in a spoil-them-rotten and allow their every whim way, but the actual needs of children become more important than anything else. At least that's how I see it, and well, how Liv sees it. If he was picking Mellie, or someone else over her, she would have a problem with it, but not with kids. And thanks for coming back to the story, although you have disagreements with how I handle some things :)**

**As for the proposal: it's just a hint, foreshadowing – it's still some way away :) And there will be more interactions between the Grant kids and Liv, but this chapter was really about Karen sort of the moment she becomes OK with things. As always lovelies, thank you for your reviews and support.**


	9. Written in the Stars

**Warning: Fluff ahead :)**

* * *

"Liv, we're heading to the beach."

"Did you bring-"

"Yeah, we've got sunscreen."

"And did you-"

"Yes, mom, we've got water. Please just let us go, we already know the drill." Zoey chimes in. All three of them chuckle, exchanging a look that she doesn't miss.

"Ok, fine. We'll see you in a little while."

It's been the same routine for the past three weeks. Fitz lets her sleep in, while he gets them breakfast. Kids are usually done by the time she comes down. He comes back from his morning run, as they're heading out, so the two of them get a bit of alone time, before joining everyone. It's been the same routine; but it's not tiresome, it's comfortable, dependable; normal and regular.

"Hey sleepy-head." He's standing in the doorway his white t-shirt clinging to his chest. His hair is wet, little droplets of sweat hanging from the few unruly curls on his forehead. Seeing him like this, every morning, it never gets boring. It still takes her breath away; he still takes her breath away.

"Hi." She's turning around, flashing him her best seductive smile.

"Kids gone?"

"Kids gone."

In a blink of an eye he's standing in front of her; she's kissing him; it's hungry and deep; his hands on her ass; he's lifting her; it's his neck and her collarbones; they're stumbling to the wall; then, "Sorry, we forgot the sunscreen." She bites his lip and her head is on her shoulder, hiding. The door closes and he can't stop laughing.

"Stop! It's not funny. He just walked in on us!" And she's playfully slapping his arm, she's mortified, why does he get to have fun.

"We were making out."

"My tongue was down your throat. And your hands… Oh my God, we just scarred that child!" She's burying her head in his neck, shutting her eyes, closed tight; opening them, hoping she'd wake up.

"Liv, it's fine." And she looks up at him, opening one eye. It's adorable; he can't resist, he goes in for a kiss.

"Oh, no. We are not-"

"What? You think they'll come back saying there's something else they forgot?" He's laughing again and she can't help herself; her lips are back at his neck, her hands gliding down his chest. She barely manages to utter, "Upstairs."

They finally join the kids on the beach. As they're walking up, the minors are smiling knowingly.

"Sorry about that Gerry." She's bright red; 50 shades.

"Oh, no that's fine." And he can barely hold in a laugh.

"I'm going for a swim. Ladies care to join me?" And the three of them are walking off, breaking into a run; racing to the water, disappearing in the sun.

"Ger, seriously, do we need to talk about this?" His tone is warm, parental concerned. And the boys face straightens up, a worried look growing in his eyes.

"No dad, really, it's fine. I guess just…" there's an encouraging nod "I mean, should we have 'the safe talk'?" He barely manages to get the last sound out before breaking into a laugh, his whole body collapsing into the sand.

"Oh, that's just. Funny. You're a funny kid. Real funny Gerry." He grabs him from the sand, picks him up and throws him over his shoulder; it's getting more difficult, the boy's growing up and he's getting older. In a matter of seconds they're in the water ruining the game the girls were playing, they're splashing water in their face; splashing water everywhere. It's a fight; the best kind.

* * *

"I don't want to go." He's sprawled out on the bed, his feet on the floor; his voice sounds whiney, like a child who's lost control.

"He's your boss." She retorts from the bathroom; trying to sound stern. "We don't have to stay long." One last look in the mirror. She closes her eyes, a moment to wonder – is it too much. The deep-v neckline barely held up by the thin straps; and the plunged backline mere inch above her ass; but the white is radiating off her skin, and she knows he'll love it. She steps into the closet and picks up her shoes – silver stilettos – this will hurt; and then she's walking into the bedroom.

"Ready to go?" She's trying to keep her face innocent; wipe off any trace of a smile when she sees his face.

"You cannot be serious." He's looking at her incredulous. "You can't expect me to leave the house right now, to behave the whole night, with you looking-" his eyes dart up and down one more time, mentally undressing her, "like that."

"Oh, but I can." She turns around with a smirk; he's about to fall in step, but then he sees the back.

"You're killing me."

The party is outside. It's a warm August night. She's standing by the pool; he's getting them drinks; but really he's just looking. Looking at the way the pool lights dance on her skin; the way her eyes illuminate the night; the way she's biting her lip, while looking at him. It's a party full of people, but they don't know; in that moment they're alone.

"Cy, thanks for inviting us."

"Thanks for showing up. You're my shining star! And you must be Olivia." He's stretching his hand out, and she takes it. There's something in his eyes, something she doesn't like; but she pushes the feeling aside. "It's a pleasure."

"No, the pleasure's all mine. You've been on my radar for quite some time." She's not sure what that means, but she lets it slide; it's not the place, nor the time. "Oh, James, over here." And he's waving to a familiar-looking man.

"Oh, my God. James, James Novak? I Haven't seen you since…"

"Darfur."

"Yes. Wow, that seems a lifetime ago." And she steps in for a hug; not missing Fitz's inquiring eyes.

"You know each other?" Cyrus looks mildly annoyed; his voice sweet, his eyes threatening.

"Yes, we worked together in-"

"Darfur. Got that." And his husband shoots him a look; but she feels that's just Cyrus; no tact, no need for the polite act.

And Fitz tries to break the awkward silence, "So, you're Cyrus' husband. It's great to put a face to the name."

Cyrus pulls him away, there are people to meet, people to greet, people to impress with the Pulitzer. Fitz hates it. The smiling and shaking hands, the pats on the back. He hates feeling like a trophy, like a prize, something to polish, to shine. He finally slips away, ready to grab her to make their getaway.

"James, you mind if I steal Liv?" He pulls her in an embrace, her back molding to his chest.

"By all means. I feel bad I've monopolized her for most of the evening anyway." Half an hour later they're finally home; kids asleep; they're alone.

"That dress needs to go."

"Oh, I don't think so." She's slipping off her heels, smiling at him. And he starts chasing her, catching up by the time she reaches the stairs, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her the rest of the way. He lowers her slowly onto the bed; her hands are wrapped around his neck, her fingers lost in his hair. She's looking into his eyes, getting lost in the stars.

She's lying on top of him, their bodies heaving; they're trying to steady their breathing. He's looking at her and a simple realization washes over him – he's happy. And it's not just because of the way she flutters her lashes and bites her lip; or the way her fingers are absentmindedly tracing little circles on his hips; or the way she smiles at him; or the way she plays with her hair. It is all that. But it's also so much more. It's that she loves his kids and she shows it, so they know it; it's that she raised Zoey; it's that she makes him want to be the best version of himself. He wants her, all of her and he wants to ask, but he's afraid. In his mind if he pushes her she could walk away; he doesn't seem like a reason enough to stay. He wants to ask, but he's afraid. So, instead, "I think we should get a bigger place." And he does, one day; but this, this is not about rooms, or size, location or garage; no, this is about insecurity, trying to commit without making her blink.

"I like my place. It has the most magical view." She doesn't see what he's trying to do.

"But we might need a bigger place, one day."

"Well, then we'll talk about it then." She's drifting asleep with the sound of his heartbeat. He stays awake for hours, eyes wide open; because every time he closes them, he sees the night they looked at the stars; the night they lay on the grass, the night he asked; the night they broke each other's heart.

And they spend the next they packing, doing chores, running. He's avoiding her, he needs time; he needs a signal, a sign of what she'd say, would she get scared, would she walk away. Dinner is quiet, they are all lost in thought – contemplating the end of the summer; the return to reality; the burst of the bubble. Grim faces; dull eyes and fleeting smiles signaling there's only hours to go until their goodbyes. Liv finally snaps, "We're camping out tonight."

His head shoots up. "We're what?"

"We're camping out. In the backyard. It's warm enough. We'll lie down and we'll hang out, we'll watch the stars." They're all starting to smile. "Karen and Zo can you please get blankets from upstairs, and Ger there should be some sleeping bags stored away under your bed."

They sit in the yard for a while. They play charades, until they're tired and worn out from laughing all night; they stay up until their eyes hurt, until their throats burn from laughter. And they lie down in a circle, their heads together, limbs apart – they're forming a star.

"Did you know that when you look up, up at the stars, you're actually looking into the past?" Karen asks with a smile, her eyelids almost giving up.

"Wow, really?" Zoey opens her eyes to look at the sky again, hoping she'd see a glimpse into her past; a glimpse into the life she missed out. "Who told you that?" She's skeptical, it's too amazing, too magical.

"Dad. He used to be obsessed with stars when we were growing up. He'd just sit outside and stare at the sky every night. And then I asked him why – and he said he was looking into the past. It's because the light travels really fast."

And with that the girl is out. The kids are falling asleep; they're sharing a dream.

"Liv, you asleep?" She smiles, this is so typical.

"Nope. But I should be. You should be."

He turns on his side and props himself up on his elbow, rising over Karen and looking at her. "You got the flat because of the view. Because of the stars. Because the lights remind you of stars. The view. It's why you don't want to give it up. I get it now." And she's on her side, looking up, reaching for his cheek as Karen's chest rises rhythmically.

"Yeah. I… That night. Before I messed up and you messed up, you said the thing about looking at the stars and seeing the past; and I said that that makes passing time less sad, because the perfect moment we had had, we could just look up, look at the stars, and they'd take us back, back into the past. So when I missed you, I'd look up and for a moment and I could pretend we were back there. I could pretend I said yes. Then the lights replaced the stars, but it was always you, always that night, always that mess-up." And his hand is covering hers. This is it. This is the sign. The signal. She's not scared; she won't walk away. He can ask and they'll be OK.

They stay like that for a little while. They lose the stars in each other's eyes. It's a signal. It's a sign. They're written in the stars.

* * *

**The thing about the stars – I read this quote in Sophie's World years ago, and it's been stuck in my head forever, so I really wanted to include it in a Fic and this chapter seemed like the right time:**

**"The only way we can look out into space, then, is to look back in time. We can never know what the universe is like now. We only know what it was like then. When we look up at a star that is thousands of light-years away, we are really traveling thousands of years back in the history of space." - Jostein Gaarder**

**So I've introduced Cy and James, they'll be back. There's a plot coming up with them. And the next chapter… well, all I'm going to say is – it's a game changer. I'll try and have it up by tomorrow morning (my time), so it should be tonight for the West Coast, but it East might already be asleep :)**

**As Always – thanks for reading and for reviews – your support and encouragement means the world!**


	10. On the Rooftop

He's sitting at Zoey's favorite table looking at the restaurant door, his foot rhythmically tapping on the floor; his fingers intertwined, knuckles almost white. They walk in, their steps in sync and Zoey smiles at him.

"So, you must be wondering why I asked you to lunch-"

"You want to ask us to marry mom." She's grinning, her grandma chuckling at his shocked face. "Oh, come on, we all knew it was coming." He quirks his eyebrow and gives the girl a look, "OK, Karen might have mentioned it was coming."

"Right." He feels sucker-punched. He had a whole speech planned, every course a different line of attack; he was ready to make a pitch, but they already seemed convinced.

That is until Diane spoke. "You make her happy, so you have my blessing. But I swear to God, if she says no, and you pull something like the stunt you did last time-" And Fitz is shaking his head, ferociously, he looks like he's seizing.

"THE LAST TIME?" Zoey's about to lose her mind. "There was a last time? You asked mom?" And Diane realizes what the shaking was about, he wasn't trying to have some fun, to dance it out; it was a warning, an out – she smiles apologetically.

"Zo, it was ages ago. Before." He's smiling at her, trying to make her feel less betrayed.

"You didn't tell me. You just said you used to be friends."

"You knew we were more than that." He shoots her a knowing smile, a knowing glance.

"Yeah, but not engaged."

"Well, we weren't engaged. I asked, and she didn't say yes."

"Why not?"

"We were young, she wanted more time." She's looking at him, trying to see if he's lying, if there's more to it. She's trying to understand, wrap her head.

"But why did you break up?" And he sighs. He doesn't know what to say. Should he lie, but she might find out; or does he lay it all out?

"Zo, it was a long time ago. They were young and things… things just didn't work out." There's finality in her grandmother's voice, the same tone that Liv employs to signal the end of a discussion, a finished talk. "Why don't you go ask Alex about the specials?" It's their tradition, she knows the staff, so she doesn't mind; she doesn't think she's being handled, pushed aside.

Once she's out of earshot, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you hadn't told her."

"Liv didn't want to explain everything, so she decided it was better if she didn't know anything. She wanted her to like me and well, knowing that, she wouldn't have." He's looking at his hands, trying to hide the shame.

"She's forgiven you, you should forgive yourself too."

"I don't deserve her." There's a tone of defeat in his voice. It's his personal truth, it's the scars of the hurt, the hurt he caused her.

"You don't. But I'm her mom and I'm partial. She loves you, more than you even know, because she's still, she's a little bit afraid to show it; show everything, but she loves you. So the way you deserve her, the way you earn her is you love her back. That's all that it will take." He wants to say thank you, and I do, I love her too, but he's processing, trying to choke back the tears. And then his phone vibrates and breaks up the moment, the exchange.

"I'm so sorry, but I should really take this." And he walks out into the chilly autumn afternoon, the brisk air reaching his lungs, giving him life. "Hey, Cy, what's up?"

* * *

"Hey guys, how was your lunch?" She's standing in the kitchen, cutting up carrots for snacks; slowing down as she looks up.

"It was good, we missed you. Too bad you had that meeting." And they're both grinning. She's confused, but she just assumes it's one of their things. Like they have their movie nights on Thursdays; and they have their geography games; he also tells her stories, about places he's been, what he's seen. They have _their _things. Zoey drops her backpack on the floor and heads to the refrigerator dood. He walks over to Liv, gives her a quick kiss, his hands lingering. Then he leans against the counter and looks deep into her eyes; that's all she needs to know, they need to talk.

"Zo, why don't you have these instead." And she's showing a bowl of carrot sticks in her hands, taking the ice cream away. "Go do your homework and then we'll go for a walk before dinner." She looks up, her eyes darting between her mom and Fitz and she sees, she can tell something's up, so she picks up her stuff and dances off to her room.

"What's up?"

"Cy called me." She has a bad feeling about this. Cy is his boss, he calls him all the time, something's different now; something's bigger now. "James is in Syria, with MSF." She sees where this is going, she already knows it, and she's shaking her head, slowly, as if pushing the next bit away. "Liv, there's a story."

"Great. Can't he give it to someone else?"

"It's an orphanage. They're stuck in between, the kids, they can't leave. The UN can't evacuate them. It's bureaucracy and missed opportunities, while they're dying. You know how these things work. I go there, do a story, we get it in the news, the pressure, it might change something."

"Can't he call someone else? I mean for god's sake, he's the editor of one of the biggest papers in the world, I'm sure there are other people who could-"

"He needs me. They need a show pony. They need the high-profile and the human rights focus. I mean, Liv, they're all doctors, they need _me_. They're saving lives, they're saving kids, but they can't tell this story. Not the way it needs to be told to be heard; not so that it will impact the world." She sighs; he's right. They do need him; she knows it. "If you don't want me to go, ask me to stay, for you I'll walk away." She can't. No, she can't. It wouldn't be fair.

"It's a virtual war-zone."

"I know." He's wrapping his hands around her, whispering in her hair. "But I've been to those before." He's trying to sound playful, sound cool, but it's not helping her.

"I read reports from there every day. I read… you can't…" She's trying to fight back the tears; choke back the fear. She steps slightly out of his embrace, and looks up, analyzing his face. "You see danger, you hear danger; you run, you hide. You don't stay and fight; you don't stay and try to make it right. You run and you hide and you come home alive."

He smiles, he realized – he's the love of her life; no more questions in his mind. "So you don't want me to be a hero who saves lives."

And she steps back in, hugging him, "No, I want _you_ to come home alive."

"How do we tell Zoey?"

"We don't. She doesn't need to know. She doesn't need to know where you'll go. She'll know you're going, but there's no need for her to worry."

"There's no need for you to worry either. I'll be fine; back in no time." He tries, tries to assure her, to ease her mind; but it makes no difference, she's terrified.

The next few days are crazy. It's packing and phone-calls; arrangements, contacts, backups. It's a mind-game, fighting the fear, letting the adrenaline in. It's a mind game that he could win, before, but he's not so sure anymore.

"That's your flight. Final call, you better go." But she's still holding on, her arms around him, her fingers gripping his sweater; her head resting next to his heart.

"Liv, will you-"

"No, don't ask me now." He looks down at her, surprised. "Zoey told me." And she can see the shock in his eyes. "She was freaked out, that I would "mess it up", her words, not mine. She just wanted to give me time." She gives him a small smile.

"But just-"

"No. We're not doing this just in case. Ask me when you're back. Ask me on a rooftop, in front of the Eiffel Tower, or in our bed; I don't care; just, just ask me when you're back."

"OK." They exchange smiles, kiss, both shutting their eyes, because they can't cry; not here, not right now. And with that he's gone. She's standing alone; silent tears leaving silver tracks on her cheeks.

* * *

It's the longest two weeks. She barely sleeps. She worries. She constantly thinks of him. He calls when he can; but it's irregular and brief; hellos and goodbyes, I Love Yous and Be safes; it's a mess. And the phone rings, her stomach an endless pit.

"Hi."

"Hi." A sigh. Relief. He's alive. Every time, there's a moment when after the ring when she thinks – it's done; he's gone. "You in Vienna?"

"Yeah. I should be home late tonight, so don't wait up." Home. It sounds so perfect. So right.

He opens the door and it's their place, their safe space. It smells the same, like cinnamon and vanilla; it smells like them; like summer; like laughter; it smells like a dream come true, like waking up in a magical world. She's on the couch, asleep; she dozed off waiting.

"Livvy.' He's kneeling next to her, softly kissing her temple; running his fingers through her hair. Her eyes flutter; the lashes trying to keep the soft light at bay.

"You're back." It's a breath. It's air reaching her lungs; fear leaving her heart. A smile that tells him everything – how much she loves him, how much she worried. "Come here." She sleepily scoots back, trying to make space for him; but it's a couch; chances are pretty slim.

"Livvy, we can't both fit."

"Yes, we can." He can't resist; not tonight. So he's slipping his shoes off, dropping his jacket to the floor and lying next to her. She's wrapping her body around him, sprawled out on top of him – they fit perfectly. For the first time in two weeks they can both sleep. And as she succumbs to dreams she mutters – "I missed your heartbeat."

He wakes up and there's a body on top of his, but it's not Liv; it's the little girl, her whole face smiling. "You're back."

"And you're in trouble for spilling our secret." And he's tickling her, she doesn't try to fight back, no, she just laughs instead. Liv's voice breaks them out of their game, alerting them to behave.

"I have to go to work. Something came up, I'm sorry. I'll try to be back as soon as I can." She gives them an apologetic smile; but truth be told, he doesn't mind – he needs the time.

It's evening. She's been gone the whole day; he's back and she's been away. She feels guilty as she's walking up to the door, but she stops in her tracks, there's a note – _Meet me at the rooftop_. She gets out into the open space and the scene takes her breath away.

There's a cardboard cut-out of the Eiffel Tower, propped next to their bed and there is he – leaning against the railing – looking at the city lights, looking at the stars.

"Fitz…" He turns around, a confident smile playing on his lips.

"You said to ask you on a rooftop, in front of the Eiffel Tower or in our bed and I thought I'd do you one better instead." She's speechless; it's got to be a dream, because things like this, men like him – don't exist in reality.

He walks up to her; his hand cupping her cheek – "Liv, marry me." It's not a question, there's no one knee – he knows the answer, and so does she.

"OK." And she's kissing him; it's him; it's always been him.

"I do all this, and I don't even get a yes?" He mutters teasingly between hatched breaths.

"Shut up, I'm trying to process."

* * *

**So I guess it was two game-changers. The first one, clearly the engagement! I was writing this at like 7am in the library, grinning like a moron from all the fluff and getting some fairly strange looks. (Tom helped him with the bed. Tom's the doorman, if you remember from one of the early chapters, and it took them a while to take the bed apart and get it up; and I have no idea why I felt the need to share that.) Also, I really wanted Fitz to ask Zo and Liv's mom for the blessing (blame the feminist in me).**

**Second thing; the story and Fitz traveling and working on it, that's sort of the second big thing that will be happening in the next few chapters. **

**And seriously, thank you so much for your reviews, they're so amazing! I'm so excited you like this story and reading them always makes my day. So thanks!**


	11. Deaths of their lives

**Sorry it took me a while to update; I had an exam yesterday. But I'm finally done with school - YAY! This chapter is flashbacks/current time. Flashbacks are wedding - month before the wedding - engagement - wedding night (so they aren't in a neat timeline). Hope you'll like... Also, don't freak out.**

* * *

_"Mom, you ready?"_

_A deep breath – in – out; shoulders back; head high; step out._

_"Wow." Zoey is mesmerized. Speechless, for the first time in her life. _

_"Liv, you look stunning." _

_"Thank you honey." She kisses the top of Karen's head, and then lays a kiss on Zoey's cheek. "Ready?" And with that they're on their way. It's not the most important day, or the most defining day of her life. No, those, those are yet to come. But this one, this one is magnificent. It's perfect. It's her, it's him, it's them. Dancing, swaying; the city moving beneath their feet. They're surrounded by smiles, by happy eyes. They're surrounded by love. His hand is low on her back; their cheeks almost touching, but no, it's just electricity. His eyes, they tell her everything; they tell their story. And hers, hers tell a story of love, a promise of a life to come. It's a day to look back on with a smile, a memory to make you feel better for a little while. _

"Fitz! Fitz!" But the line is dead. There's no one on the other end. No one. Dead. And she can't breathe. No, there's no air. There's nothing there. He's not there. She's dropping the phone and stumbling to the ground. Zoey runs out of her room. Her mouth opening, but her mother doesn't hear a sound. She can't make a sound. No silence. Silence.

_The house is quiet. Silent. She's chopping up some carrots. Trying to pass the time. Time until tonight. Time until he comes back. That's all she does – tries to pass time. Time, all this time. He's been gone. Gone for a while. He comes back, but then he leaves; he leaves and she worries. Six months of hellos and goodbyes; of lingering hugs. Six months of trying to breathe him in, trying to live before he leaves. Six months of phone calls; of broken lines; of emails and half-smiles. Six months of being engaged; of wondering every morning when she wakes up alone, wondering – if it was all a dream._

_"Honey, I'm home." He closes the door and drops his bag to the floor._

_Her head shoots up in the direction of the voice, "You're back early!" She's running towards him, jumping into his embrace. Her arms are wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist; she's burying her head in the crook of his neck. "God, I've missed you."_

_"I can tell." He's pulling her head away, his hand cupping her cheek, she's leaning into it. And at first it's a soft kiss, but then it's desperate and it's deep; it's what they've missed. She's undressing him and all he can utter is, "Zoey?"_

_"Mom. Back at five. We've got time." With that they're done talking; words are no longer enough; this is physical, it's primal; essential. _

_They're coming down from their high; their breathing fast, synchronized. _

_"I've missed that." They both chuckle; phone sex just can't compare. "Why don't we shower and I'll call mom and we can pick Zo up. She wasn't expecting you until tonight. And I want to witness that surprise."_

_"I'm sorry, did you say something. Because you lost me after – we and shower." _

_"Funny. Go, get the water started. And I'll be there as soon as I call mom."_

_"I'm coming to get you in five." He says with a mischievous grin, before giving her a quick kiss. He slowly drags his fingers across her body, making her shudder, before he smirks again, satisfied by the way she arched her back, and says, "I'll see you in five."_

_They're walking down a busy street, hand in hand, it's the perfect fit. _

_"So you liked it?"_

_"I loved it. It's the best thing you've written… yet." He squeezes her hand in return, because he can't tell her, no there are no words, how much her faith means to him, how important her encouragement is. He's a man of words, he molds them, joins them, plays with them; he creates magic with words; he voices unthought-of ideas, feelings not-yet defined; he reads a mind then writes it – for everyone. He's a man of words, but with her there are no words, no words good enough for her. She squeezes his hand back, then asks, voice weak and cracked, "When do you have to go back?" This breaks his heart every time; but he can't stop; he could choose, and every time it would be her, but he knows she doesn't want him to._

_"Not until after the wedding."_

_Her face instantly lights up, "You're here for the whole month?"_

_"I'm here for the whole month." He kisses her softly, just to affirm. _

_"Fitz!" And it's a shriek, a scream, a sound unlike anything. He looks at Liv and drops her hand with a smile, bending down to meet the pair of fiery eyes running towards him. She lunges at him with so much force that it takes him by surprise; she holds on tight, he lifts her up. "You're back." Now it's soft, almost a whisper, "I've missed you."_

_"Oh, Zo, you have no idea." They stay like that, in their embrace, for a little while. The cars passing, the city bustling – none of it distracting. Liv is smiling. This, them, it's everything, her every dream._

Maybe it was all a dream. Her eyes still closed, but she's no longer asleep. She wakes up and looks around; her mom is sitting on the couch. Her face, her face is a giveaway – no dream; it was real. And all she has is silent tears. Her mom moves over, puts her head in her lap.

"Cy is on the phone. Tyring to find out…" And her voice trails off. It's too soon. Too soon to speak of it; even if all they do is think of it. Instead – silent tears.

_"That was Cy." She looks up, his naked form outlined by the moonlight. She knows what he'll say; she knows what's coming her way. She doesn't want to hear it. No, right now is too good; too perfect. "I have to go back."_

_"We just got engaged."_

_"They need me back. They just bombed the orphanage." She looks away, because in that moment all she sees where he stands is – absence. She looks away because her eyes can't hide; her eyes can't lie. She looks away. She can feel the bed shifting on the other side. She can feel his breath on her bare back. She can feel his hand; his fingers gently brushing against her cheek, putting away a loose strand of hair. "Livvy." It's soft and it's deep; his voice, her everything. _

_She's looking away. He's whispering. His lips brushing against her ear. Whispers. The love, it's all so clear. "Livvy, look at me." She turns around, slowly; her body shifting; but her eyes, they still hide. _

_"I don't want you to go."_

_"I know. And I don't want to go."_

_"But you're going anyway."_

_She gets out of bed and pulls his shirt over her head. She makes her way to the bathroom, locking the door; sliding her back against it, until she's on the floor. She wants him to stay; but he should go; she has to let him go. She can hear him breathing on the other side; she can hear his mind; racing, struggling._

_"I can't ask you to stay. I know you'd do it. But you'd resent me for it. You would. One day. And you, you are great. You need to be out there. Because your writing, it's magical. It changes the world; it changes minds. It's powerful and influential. It can save lives." _

She's trying to stand up. She needs to see him. She needs to find him. But she's sedated. She's groggy and her legs wobbly. Her mom looks up. "Liv, honey, you should sit down."

But she can't. No, she can't just sit. She can't just wait. She can't do – noting. She can't live with nothingness. So she's up, trying to make her way. To the window. She needs to look up; she needs to see the stars. She needs to know he's alright. But then there's a sharp pain and she's bending over her growing belly; her hand clutching into a fist, her face grimacing. She's trying to speak. But there's nothing. Just stars, stars before her eyes and then darkness, nothingness.

_"OK. Close your eyes." She does. He lifts her up and she lets out a loud laugh. _

_"Are you really going to carry me in? That's so corny."_

_"Shush. You're my wife. And it's good luck. And frankly, we've had crap luck; so I want to do this right." She opens her eyes and looks up. _

_"We've had the best luck. We ended up… We got us." He smiles. But then there's a flash of panic on his face._

_"Crap. The card. It's in my pocket." She's laughing again. _

_"You could just put me down."_

_"No. We just got married. I am doing this."_

_"Fine. Which pocket?" And she's grabbing his ass; her eyes playing with his, teasing. _

_"Tux." She slips her fingers in and pulls it out. She slides it into the lock and pushes open the door. Candlelight. Hundreds and hundreds of candles; the room of dancing flames. _

_"Surprise." She's looking up, at him, his eyes, the red fire reflected in the dark. And then she's kissing him, they're stumbling. Falling into the future._

_They're lying on the bed. The candles slowly burning out – one by one. She gets up and doesn't bother putting anything on. She finds her clutch and takes a deep breath. She's sitting on the bed, clutch in hand, looking at him. He reaches out playfully, his hand making her way to her breast. _

_"I have something for you."_

_"I thought we said no gifts." There's a hint of panic. It's adorable, charming. She's pushing the clutch in his hands, nervously smiling._

_"Just open it." And he does. And he just stares at it for a while. His eyes affixed, wide; but then, then they disappear in a smile as he lifts it up._

_"We're pregnant." And he's kissing her, like it's the first time, like it's the last time – like there's no time. They're kissing. The time ticking._

_He's standing next to the window, the lone candle still flickering in the dark. She walks up to him and wraps her hands around his body; resting her head on his back. _

_"What you thinking."_

_"I'm not going back. After this time. This is the last one. The last three months." She lifts her head up and he turns around, reading her mind. "You're not asking me. I'm staying. I want to stay. This, this is more important. Being here with you, it's more important than saving the world."_

_"Are you sure? Because you don't have to… We can, you can still be away. We can figure out a way to-"_

_"No. This, us, our family – it's all I need. I hate leaving. And I hate being away. As much as you hate staying behind. And, it gets more difficult every time. So this, this is the last time. Three months and then I'm done. The story will carry on. But, I, I'm done."_

"Two more days and I'm back. Two more days and we can pick out baby names, we can pick out onesies and color schemes; and I can massage your swollen feet. I can come to your appointments and hear the heartbea-" There's a loud noise. There's heat. There's fire and light. Falling. Free falling. There's fire. And there's light. And the light. It's swallowing him up. He's disappearing. All he can hear si screaming. Somewhere. Far away. She's calling his name.

"Fitz! Fitz!" And then the line is dead. There's no one on the other end. No one. Dead.

* * *

**So keep the pitchforks at bay, it's still not done; no one's gone; haven't killed anyone, yet. I'll try to update tomorrow, save you guys the wait. Also, just in case anyone cares - they got married on the same rooftop where they got engaged. **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing and let me know your predictions and guesses – I'm curious.**


	12. A second in life, a second to death

biip-biip-biip-biip-biip-biiiiiiiiiiiiiip

"We're losing him! Charge at 200! And all clea-"

_The door to her room is ajar; the inside dark, the strip of light from the living room stretching across the floor, hitting the bed, a thin line dancing across her face. Her eyes are closed but she's not asleep, he can tell by her breathing._

_"You should talk to her." A pair of arms wrapped around his waist. Familiar. They bring comfort; they're safe haven, they're home._

_"I know." He kisses her temple and pushes the door, letting more light in, the strip on the floor expanding. "Mind if I come in?" She opens her eyes and looks at him; they're puffy, she's been crying. She nods, weakly, but doesn't speak._

_"I'm sorry." And he is, sorry for everything._

_"What for? That you lied to me, or that you're leaving?"_

_"All of it. We shouldn't have lied. But we thought that, that if you didn't know, you wouldn't worry. We didn't want you to worry. And leaving… Zo, they need me. And I know it seems silly to you, reckless even; but it's just a few trips, it's a few months."_

_"Fine." It's not. It's curt. It's petulant. It's childish. It's very un-Zoey. But it reminds him, reminds him – she is a child._

_"Scoot over." She looks at him like he's an alien, foreign, like she doesn't understand. But then she moves, making space. He lies next to her, wrapping his arm around her, her head resting on his chest. "I am going to come back. OK?"_

_"You don't know that. Things happen. Accidents. And people, people don't come back. You just got engaged." Her voice is uneven, breaths sharp, tears falling from her eyes – he can feel them on his shirt; he can physically feel the hurt. _

_"Zo, I will come back. I promise you that. Because you and Karen and Gerry are too important. Your graduations and boyfriends, your life's events – they're too important to miss. And your mom – I got her to agree to marry me. Do you know how amazing, how incredible that is? I just got her to agree 12 hours ago, I'm not letting her go; ever. So I will come back. To our movie nights; and games and to watch you dance. I am going away for a little bit. And it's dangerous, and it's not pretty; but I will be OK. I will be safe. I will stay safe. And then, one day, not too far away, I'll get on the plane and I'll be back."_

_"But then you'll have to leave again."_

_"Yeah… But I'll always come back."_

_"Promise? Because…" and there's a pause. He squeezes her shoulder, letting her know – it's ok; whatever she needs to say. "You and mom… you're all I have."_

_"And that's why we're not going anywhere. We're going to be here for years to come, until we're both senile, calling you every five minutes, running you down. We're not going anywhere until we have grandchildren in our arms."_

There is a deafening silence. A moment of quiet. A moment where death and life are intertwined, so close together they are one. A moment before the outcome; before the breath is drawn in, before there is a gasp for air, for life. A moment of silence. It's a second. A second between the crash, the rush, the pedals – a moment to live, or to die. A second in a life; a to death. They say your life flashes before your eyes – the past – the moments that made the life. It flashes, like a farewell, a goodbye. That's not what happened to Fitzgerald Grant. He didn't see his past. He didn't re-live the day he met her at that club, the night she asked him out; he didn't see her broken face as she walked away. He didn't see his children born again. He didn't see himself, standing in front of her that night, after 15 years apart, kissing her; he didn't get to see her again on their wedding night. No, he didn't see the past. Instead, a different kind of life flashed before his eyes – surging through him like electricity.

_She's squeezing his hand, pushing her forehead into his chest and there's a loud scream – and then – silence pierced by a cry. They look up at the midwife. Liv lets out a weak laugh and he's cutting the cord, his hands shaky and weak; he can't speak, he just watches his wife holding their son for the very first time. It's magical; the miracle of a brand new life. _

_And it's Christmas and the kids are running around, colorful lights illuminating the night; laughter filling the room, filling his heart. And then Zoey's in a gown, a golden rope draped around her neck – she speaks so well. She tells a tale of a girl found, given a new life, one stormy December night, in a New York hospital, by a woman who became her mom. And Gerry is looking up from their hug, teary-eyes – "Thanks dad!" – It's a gallery opening and he's never been so proud. And Karen is running up to him, her white coat flapping in the wind, wrapping around her scrups, her messy hair flying in front of her grin._

_And Liv. He always comes back to Liv; it's homecoming. She's sitting in a rocking chair; her hair grey, but the light in her eyes is still the same. It's dark and she's speaking softly to the infant in her arms. "You know, I used to tell your mom, stars are magical. They make us realize how lucky we are that in this universe, this chaos, the randomness, we find someone, someone to care about, someone to love, someone we can explain to, why we love the stars; someone that loves them as much. The thing about the stars, you know, their light is in the past; but if you think about it the other way around, that means we, we are in the future, we are to yet come." And he looks at the stars, or is it the city lights? The light of the stars – closing in, overtaking everything; taking him._

But then, then like electricity it surges through him – the will to live. He doesn't want the light of the stars, or the dark of the night; he doesn't want the future or the past; he wants here and now – he wants her; not in a dream, he wants reality. For a moment it's dark; the silence piercing his eyes; but then there's a _biip_ – there's life.

He can hear voices – muffled and distant. He wants to look up, but his eyes are heavy, the eyelids resistant.

"We lost James Novak. We're not losing this guy."

"Well, he's a fighter if I've ever seen one."

"The transfer's ready."

"HAS ANYONE CALLED HIS WIFE?" Silence. The awkward kind. "Well someone notify the family we're transferring him to Germany."

And he drifts off thinking – Livvy.

* * *

**Ok, so I know I said I'd update, but my brain's just been a bit un-cooperative. Which is why this chapter is shorter as well. This just kind of flowed out, but then, I didn't want to ruin it by forcing the rest. So hopefully, I'll update the next one fairly quickly. The next one is back to Liv and everyone. Also, I'm really curious what you thought of the future flashing idea. I've had that on my mind for a while, and I know it's been done, but I wanted to twist it up and not have the sad-life-without-type, but rather all the reasons to live. Thanks for the reviews guys, I just love, love, love reading them :)**


	13. The Mom, The Wife, The Broken One

_"You're pacing. But that, that in itself isn't worrying. Although it's 1am and you're in here pacing instead of in our bed. But that's OK. What is worrying is that you're pacing in circles and you only pace in circles when you're upset." She doesn't lift her head, doesn't look at him, no she just keeps pacing. He walks up to her, blocking her path, his hands on her shoulders, and then, then she looks up. "Liv, what's going on?"_

_"We have to tell Zoey, about the baby." There's panic in her eyes, flashes of fear and angst intertwined. He hadn't realized. He hadn't realized she was upset, or that she thought Zoey could mind, he just hadn't realized._

_"Liv, it'll be fine." He's squeezing her shoulders, trying to catch her gaze, but she's lost in her mind; she's drifted away. His arms move along hers, trying to soothe. But she's still a prisoner of her own psyche; trying to find a way out of her mind's maze. Finally, he lifts her chin with his finger and lays a soft kiss on her lips. That breaks her out, brings her back; now's the time to try again. "It" – kiss on the cheek – "will" – and a kiss on the other one – "be" – the side of her neck – "fine" – he can feel her artery, the heartbeat under his lips._

_She keeps her eyes closed for a moment longer and then opens them slowly – still filled with worry. "What if she's not ready for it?" Her voice almost cracks, but not quite; no she's trying to pull the Olivia and shut the tears down. His face isn't hiding the shock well, he doesn't understand; his eyes nudging her to explain. "It was just us. And then you came, and we got engaged and now we're married and then… there's a baby. It was just us for a long time and now, now that's gone. What if she's not ready?"_

_"Liv she loves us, she loves that we're married, she'll love this baby. And you know that, because you know Zoey. So what is it really?"_

_"What if I'm not ready?"_

_"For what, for a baby?" He doesn't understand. He tries to pull her in a tighter embrace, but she steps away._

_"What if I'm not ready for a baby?"_

_"But you already have Zoey!"_

_"It's different. She instantly got attached; she liked me. What if our kid doesn't like me? What if I suck at it? I never did the baby thing. Zoey, Zoey was a kid; an amazing, fantastic kid. I mean she basically raised herself. She liked to read; she always studied; she was a friend, more than a child half the time. She was a pal, that I'd occasionally help with math or take to a ballet class. It was easy. I-" And he cuts her off; his voice soft but strong; she needs to believe him when he tells her why she's wrong._

_"No, it wasn't easy. You were just great at it. She wasn't a kid Liv, she was barely done being a baby and she just lost her parents – that's hell. And somehow, miraculously, you made her OK. She likes to read, because you read to her and you told her stories, you brought her into the world of books and helped her explore it. She studied because you taught her to work hard; you taught her the value of school; the beauty in knowing stuff. And she was a friend because you let her – you didn't treat her like a child; you respected her as an adult. You let her make choices you let her make mistakes; you gave her advice and you let her pave her way. None of it was easy, none of it is easy; but to you, it just comes naturally. I see it with her; I see you with my kids – it comes naturally. So our kid, our kid will love you, adore you and think you're the best mommy. Until right about when they hit puberty." With that last line a smile played on his lips, a smile inviting her in; a smile inviting her laugh – inciting it. _

_"Promise?" She sounds childish; the insecurity overtaking the adulthood._

_"I promise."_

_"Good, because I really want this baby. With your charm and my mind." She looks up into his faux-wounded eyes. _

_"You mean your charm and my mind."_

_"Ha. Ha." But the sarcastic laugh is replaced by the real one; and the distance between them disappears – she's in front of him, cupping his face, kissing him._

"Liv, how are you feeling?" The doctor's in; breaking her out of her thoughts; out of her guilt. She was afraid, she doubted and now she's being punished. She was terrified of becoming a mom and now she might not get a chance. She looks up for a second, but then her eyes return to her stomach. The doctor proceeds, walking standing at the foot of the bed; trying to flip through her chart quietly. "We stopped your contractions, and from what I can see you both seem OK." – a sigh of relief – "But, Liv, that was still pretty bad. It is pretty bad." She nods her head, but she has yet to speak. "We'll keep you here." With that she lifts her eyes again.

"No. No, you can't. Someone could call. Someone could call to let me know…" And her voice breaks; drifts away. The hope swayed by the reality of her lying in this bed alone, and him, he' somewhere, somewhere alone – and she doesn't know; not where, not for how long; not if he's breathing or not – she doesn't know.

"We're keeping you overnight. This is not a negotiation, you were nearly in pre-term labor. I am not going to pretend to understand; to know the hell that you're going though; I don't and I wouldn't wish to; but you need to pull yourself together. You have a daughter who's out of her mind in that waiting room, trying to play a grown up; and you have a baby who needs you to stay calm. So we're keeping you, and you are going to stay. You will lie in that bed and you will rest." She looks up, shame coloring her cheeks and nods OK sheepishly. She'd be offended, scandalized – if it were lies.

"Mom!" She runs around the bed throwing herself around her mom's neck; burying her head. She pulls away slightly – "You're OK."

"I'm OK." And with that she's pulling her back in, running her hand in soothing circles on her back. "I'm OK." They stay like that for a while, until she lets the girl out of the embrace. She steps away, but then Liv scoots to the side, patting the empty space. "Get in here." She hesitates for a little bit – her smile not masking the fear. "It's OK. You can't hurt me. You're my girl, you'll cure me." And with that Zo is discarding her shoes on the floor and climbing into bed; crawling into the open arms – the safe haven.

"Where's grandma?"

"Outside. She wanted to give us a little bit of time."

"I'm sorry Zo." The girl looks up, a confused look in her eyes. "For messing up. For freaking out. I should have been a better mom."

"That's OK. You are scared."

"Yeah." And there's a brief pause, a moment of quiet; a moment to catch her thoughts and assemble them; a moment to put a dream back together, again. "I'm scared, but so are you. And I freaked out and shut you out. I should have known better. The only way to make this less scary is we stick together. You and me. It's always been us; and you'll always have me. And even if-" She can't say it, it's lodged in her throat; she's trying to breathe in, to push it out; trying to find the strength. "Even if Fitz, even if they, even if he doesn't come back, we'll have this baby, and Karen and Gerry. And they, they're all little bits of him. And most importantly; you and I – we have our whole hearts filled with him."

"Mom." Her little hand is reaching for Liv's cheek – comforting and reassuring. "He's coming back. He promised." There is conviction in her voice. A childish conviction. It's loud and unwavering, the faith in victory. The faith that at the end of the day He will keep his promise; He will come back; He will always come back. The belief that she, they are more important than anything; that their lives are too important for Him to miss. She believes. Like a child. Oh, so foolishly. And Liv, she loves it; she needs it. She needs to hope against hope, and she needs faith despite reason; she needs that truth that so easily comes to Zoey, the truth that lets her breathe easily, that lets her drift off to sleep; the truth that He will live. Not just in their hearts, in their memories. That He will live not within them; but as him – He will live. She needs to believe, because without him breathing she can't breathe; and without him sleeping she can't sleep and without Him – she can't be. And she has to, for herself, for Zoey, for the baby. She has to – for Him.

Her mom comes in quietly. She thinks they might be asleep – she hopes. And Zoey is, but Liv, Liv is stuck in reality.

"You're still awake." There's a brokenness in her voice. Helplessness only a mother can understand; helplessness of seeing your child in pain that you can't take away. So she tries, the best she can, to make it better; because she can't make it OK. "Can I get you anything?"

"Could you just hand me my phone. I need to check my emails. I missed a whole day of work."

"Liv, you really shouldn't be working."

"I can't do nothing." And her mom nods, she understands, so she hands her the cell phone from the nightstand next to Zoey's head. She sits at the bottom of the bed and puts her hand on Liv's stomach, closing her eyes, for a moment, just to relax.

Liv is flipping through the emails, replying to what she can, flagging up things to get back to, things for another day – because she, she gets another day. And sometimes, for a moment, a second she almost forgets where she is and where he is and what is happening. But then she closes her eyes, it's just a blink; no, it's a flood of feelings of memories. All it takes is a blink and the reality hits. She's scrolling and then her heart stops, it sinks and then it rises – the phoenix from the ashes. There's an email from Him. Sent yesterday. He told her he sent it but she forgot. Her finger hovers above the screen, but then she presses it, opens it.

_Here it is. We'll pick the cover together. Check out the dedication. _

_I miss you and I love you and you're calling me now so I'll just tell you._

_F._

She opens the PDF and there's a blank page, the title in the middle – LOOK TO THE STARS. She smiles a little to herself – Zo came up with that. It's his story, stories – about the orphanage – no longer in papers, but in a neat little PDF. Each is about a different kid – their stories, their fears, their hopes – the children that lost homes, lost everything. Zo read it and somewhat surprisingly understood it better than most adults, she understood the complexity; the interplay of sadness and strength; of desperation and hope. She came out of her room after she had finished, clutching her iPad – "You should tell them about the stars." He looked up, slightly confused; she could tell by his look. "Everyone and everything is gone – their lives are in the past, so if you tell them about the stars, it might make them feel better. Tell them, when they're sad, tell them to look to the stars." Liv smiled – it was poetic, and it fit the theme; it fit his aims, it fit the writing. It was dreamy and serene; it was irony; pointing to the cracks, to the ugly face of war; to kids stuck in the past, kids who only had the stars. It's the perfect title and she wants to cry - she doesn't want to spend the rest of her life looking at stars; no, she wants him, his eyes, his smile.

She scrolls through the first couple of pages and then stops, closing her eyes for a moment – forcing them to open.

_To my kids – Karen, Gerry and Zoey – this book is for you, so that one day you'll live in a better world. _

_And to Liv – you are everything; you are the stars, the constant light guiding me home. You taught me the beauty of reality, magical beyond my wildest dreams. _

She breathes in and closes her eyes, but then opens them wildly. "Mom, wake up." And her mom looks up instantly. "Something's wrong."

"What Liv?"

"There's a flutter in my stomach." And her mom shifts her hand slightly and closes her eyes and then there's a weak smile – "The baby's kicking."

"It's kicking?" Her voice is quiet, just above a whisper; afraid that is she says it louder it might stop; afraid that the universe will instantly move to squash her moment of happiness.

"Yeah, honey." And with that she falls asleep;_ their_ baby kicking.

Her phone wakes her up; vibrating somewhere on the bed. The light is her guide – in-out-in-out – flickering like candlelight; like candles in that room, that night. She finds it and picks up; a person she's never met on the other line. She doesn't remember the name, but she remembers his voice; the voice that made her cry; the voice of – "Yes ma'am he's still alive."

* * *

**Hope you liked that! So, all three are fine, but there's a long road ahead - for everyone. **

**Thanks for your reviews for the last couple of chapters, you guys really seemed to have liked them and it just means so much to me!**


	14. Hi

"I want to come."

"No, Zo, you're staying here with grandma." Her voice is firm, final. She's tired and exhausted and having this conversation on hourly basis isn't helping.

"But, mo-" And she cuts her off, taking them both by surprise, it's not something she ever does.

"We're done. No discussion, no buts, done. If I take you I have to bring Karen and Gerry too, and there is no way in hell that all three of you are missing school to sit in an ICU in Germany, watching him sleep. I spoke to their mom and she agrees. If-" And she stops, drawing in a deep breath, "when Fitz wakes up you can come. Until then you are staying here with some semblance of normalcy. You will go to school, go to ballet, hang out with your friends and be in bed before 10."

"But, I want to be there when he wakes up." She stops packing and looks down into the girl's eyes. She can't bring herself to say it; to say – he might not wake up and the doctors don't know when; and even if he does he, He could still be gone. She can't bring herself to hint defeat, to give her more to fear. So she lies through her teeth.

"Zo, you'll be there when he wakes up every morning for years to come." They exchange weak smiles; both appeased, neither satisfied.

She finishes packing. They say their goodbyes. Her mom bites her tongue – she agrees with the doctor, she doesn't think Liv should go, they're worried about her and the baby; she worries, but she does it quietly. She lets her do this. It's a long flight, but it speeds by – she reads Look to the Stars. Someone picks her up, but it's a blur; reality feels like a distant memory. She wants to see him. No, she doesn't want to go to the hotel first. No, she's not tired. No, she doesn't want to eat. She just wants to see Him.

The hospital seems unreal; everything's so light, so translucent. White halls with white floors; icy chairs and sterile scent; there are photos on the walls – happy, fake, radiating emptiness. The only pop of color are red lines on the floor – the lines to mark the ins and the outs; the lines that set the limit to what and who she can see; the lines guiding her to him. Red on white – to blend in with the blood? They give her a gown, a mask and gloves – sterile and clean – so unlike life. The doctor is nice; he knew James and he's a fan of Fitz; she's not really listening; she's just staring at the curtain through the glass; imagining – Him.

"You need to prepare yourself." She nods her head. "He's not like what you remember." She nods again. "His head is bandaged up; his face swollen. His body – the parts that aren't covered in bandages and casts are covered in scratches and cuts. He's hooked up to several monitors and there are IV drips; there are tubes and needles invading his body." She doesn't flinch, she knew this; she is prepared for it. "It's not him. Not right now. Now, he's medicine." With that, they go in.

The doctor pulls the curtain to the side and she flinches and closes her eyes. She opens them again, slowly, and forces herself to look. She flinches again; she is in physical pain. Her chest is constrained; her heart thumping crazily between her ribs; her lungs drawing in, inhaling emptily; her legs are weak, wobbly. She didn't know this; she wasn't prepared for it. Not this. She was prepared for seeing Him – seeing him cut and bruised; seeing him wounded; she was prepared for weakness and illness; she was prepared for injuries; she was prepared for that, but not this. This, this isn't him. It's his body, but, no, not really – there's nothing Him about it. It's a different color, or colors actually; his limbs are at strange angles, unnatural, so contrived. And then, his eyes. They're closed, of course; but they're puffy and big; shades of purple and grey; the skin tight and glossy; plasticy. She was prepared; she was prepared for seeing him alive, she was prepared fro seeing him in pain; but she wasn't prepared for seeing him on the brink of death. The doctor squeezes her shoulder and gives her a reassuring nod towards the chair next to his bed. She reaches out her hand, but then stops – "Can I… Is it OK to… Can I touch him?"

He nods. "We don't know much about this. Whether he can feel it, whether he can hear your voice; but I've seen patients react. Just, sometimes it takes time."

"And sometimes they just… don't wake up." She says it quietly, more to herself than to him. But he nods cautiously.

"Sometimes they don't."

He doesn't. Not the first day she's there. Not the second, or the third. Not the first week. She talks to Zoey, Karen and Gerry daily; even to Mellie. She speaks to her mom, reassures her she doesn't need to come; she's fine. It's a lie. With every day that passes by she dies a little bit more inside. But she keeps on sitting next to him. She keeps on talking. She keeps on hoping. He keeps on coding. The monitors start beeping loudly, the doctors and nurses swarm in. She knows the drill. In the beginning they'd push her out, but now they let her be – she just stands there silently. In the beginning there were tears rolling down her cheeks, but now she just stares, holding her breath; no air. It's been ten days. Still no change. Still the same. Coding; waiting; waiting for him to one time, not come back. They talk to her, bring it up – letting him go; maybe it's time. No, it's not.

She's sitting next to his bed. Reading the papers to him. Updating him. And then she feels that same fluttering.

"The baby's kicking." And before she can stop herself she's taking off the latex gloves; she's untying the sterile gown, she's taking his hand in hers – skin contact for the very first time. His hand feels different, stiff, heavy and dead – but it's still his hand; still his touch; their fingers laced – they still match. She lifts up her shirt and guides his hand to the side of her belly; she lets him feel the kicking. And she can hear his heart. It's a different sound. Someone else might not notice – the numbers are still the same, the monitors not picking up the change; but her, she can tell. It's no longer a spiral to death, it's a steady beat of life. They stay like that. And doctors come in and they leave – no one saying anything; they let them be. They let her be. They think she's letting go; they don't know; don't know that she'll never let go, that she'll never move on; that to her he'll never be gone. They don't know that she's holding on, holding on to him, she's holding on for him; fighting for him. They don't know that she's breathing life into him – it's not medicine; not science and fact; it's faith and love.

It's a Sunday night. She's falling asleep. Next to him. She's always next to him; she can't leave. Next to him is where she sleeps, where she thinks, where she breathes and where she dreams. Next to him is where she exists. She's falling asleep; it seems like a dream – the hand inside of hers is moving. It seems like a dream. His eyes are opening. It seems like a dream.

"Hi." And she swears he smiles.

Her voice cracks. "Hi."

There's a beeping sound.

* * *

**I was writing this in a cafe today and the waiter actually stopped by to ask me if I was OK. This chapter just made me really sad; like Liv being alone and trying to hold on just broke my heart (and even the most amazing latte barely helped, although it's a remedy I recommend). I'll try to update in the next couple of days and in the meantime let me know what you thought. Do you think she was dreaming? And what do you think was beeping?**


	15. Bury deep

"Hi." And she swears he smiles.

Her voice cracks. "Hi."

There's a beeping sound.

She looks up terrified, but it's just notifying them of the change in the rhythm. She should go call a doctor, she should get a nurse, she should move; but she can't. No, instead, she just sits there holding his hand. They just need a moment. A moment alone, a moment to breathe with ease; a moment before they're told he could have residue brain injuries, a moment before medicine comes flooding back in. They need a moment for him to smile, for her to gaze into his eyes. They're dark, blood-shot, but kind; it's him but different; the change making her afraid.

She finally gets the doctors, they need to do some tests. She steps out; she could stay, but _she_ needs to take a breath. She needs to process. She needs to let go of anticipation that he'll code. She needs to face that image that she buried at the back of her head – her getting off the plane and facing Zoey, holding her hand and telling her he's not coming back. She needs to bury the funeral plans; she can let go of the eulogy, of the speech about how he lived; because he, he gets to live. She needs to say goodbye to images of holding their baby, raising it without him. All these fears. The garbage. The weight on her shoulders. It was killing her and she didn't even know it. She didn't know how afraid she was of everything, because the only thing that mattered was him. She didn't know she was terrified about Zoey, and the baby; the funeral, the eulogy. She hadn't know the details of her fear, because the big one – the one that he will die; the big one was big enough. But now, now that it's falling by the wayside, all the other things are creeping in – overwhelming. She's looking through the glass in the door; and then the curtain moves and for a split second she can see him staring, looking for her. He's alive and it's too much. She turns her back to the wall, her legs shaky and she just slides to the floor. She buries her head between her knees and tries to breathe. She can't. No, it's like there's no air. Her breaths are shallow and uneven; they're loud; they're gasps; drowning on dry land. Someone sees her, someone crouches down; someone lifts her up. There's a paper bag; someone's drawing circles on her back. They're telling her to calm down; that _he_'s alright. But _she'_s not. No, her life's been turned upside down and she stayed strong. But there's only so long, only so long she could hold it in for and now, now that he's alive, now that he'll be fine she's breaking at the seams; not breaking, bursting.

She finally gets the doctors, they need to do some tests. She steps out; he could ask her stay, but _he_ needs to take a breath. He needs to process. He needs to piece together what happened. He needs to face that image that he buried at the back of his head – the blood, gushing out; and his hands covered in red – trying to help, James – the moment he went from alive to dead; the moment his eyes died. He needs to bury the taste of the ground mixed with blood; the sounds, the screams – he needs to bury it. No eulogy, no memory, no remembering – bury, deep; because he, he gets to live and he can't live thinking of death. He needs to say goodbye to the images of the massacred bodies; all dead – but him. He gets to live. All these memories. The garbage. The weight on his shoulders. It's killing him and he doesn't even know it. He doesn't know he's afraid of everything, because the only thing that matters is this – her, them, surviving. He doesn't know he's terrified of seeing James' face; of seeing the bodies, limbs out of place; of hearing loud sounds, of hearing screams. He doesn't know the fear that comes with closing one's eyes. He doesn't know yet that memories, they can't be buried deep. They can't be sent away without a eulogy. He doesn't know they will come back to haunt him. He doesn't know they will become the faces of his dreams; the companions in his nightmares; that he'll see it and re-live it. He doesn't know the power of his memories; the scars of his psyche, because in that moment he's just there, alive and well; seeing her gaze as the curtain moves away. And he can see the emotions in her eyes in the split second of eye-contact time, but then she's turning around; disappearing from his sight. He needs to hold her; take her fears away. But he can't. Because fears, like memories – they live. They live independently of reason and will. They crawl into dusty corners of our psyche and loom in the darkness; they hide and then come back alive. Fears, like memories – they propel life and they ruin it; they break precious things.

The tests are done and she comes back in after a while. Her eyes red and puffy. She cried. She can't hide. She sits next to him and he slowly lifts his hand, cupping her cheek. She leans into it. It feels like a dream. It's reality. Tears roll down her cheeks. Tears of quiet relief.

"Lie next to me."

"I can't."

"You can. The doctor said OK. If we're careful." He smiles at her. She smiles back. She sits on the bed. He moves slightly, but then he's in pain, his face grimacing.

"That's OK. I'll just sit here."

"No." And he pats the bed and moves further away, trying to mask the pain. She lies down. Slowly. Oh, so slowly. She's afraid to touch him. His leg is in a cast and so is his other arm. And the bandages on his chest – she's seen the cuts; not yet scars. But his shoulder – it's bare, untouched. And he nods his head, signaling OK. She lowers hers, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He rests his arm on her back; his hand trailing lines soothingly. He kisses her temple and with that she's gone. She cries. Silent sobs. For hours. He lets her. He just holds her. It's all she wants and it's all she needs. Just him. Breathing. Eventually she falls asleep and so does he.

That night she has no fears. That night he has no dreams. Tomorrow he will be haunted by memories; tomorrow the nightmares will come; the images will invade his mind. Tomorrow her fears will be gone; buried deep in the back of her mind. Because tomorrow will bring back_ the_ fear and she will once again let go of the details – bury them deep. Tomorrow he will be injured and she will be fine – her wounds invisible, on the inside. But not tonight.

Tonight there are no fears; no memories. Tonight there's just a dream. They both dream of the stars, of a time when this won't be their future, but their past.

* * *

**Someone asked about my Tumblr a while back. I do indeed have one. But it's not really Scandal-centric, it's just filled with pretty stuff I like (and a bit of vic occasionally) and a bit of fitblr. If that didn't put you off and you still want to check it out - .com**

**Originally the title of this chapter was meant to be Screwed up in Sync, but I wasn't sure how that would work with ratings, so I kept it clean. Point being: they are royally messed up in sync. Other than that, back to the story at hand - stormy waters ahead. But they're both alive, and working their way up to fine :) Thanks for reading everyone and your reviews literally give this story life. And on that note - TofuQueen - I love the idea that it was Liv dreaming - I wish I had thought of that, coz that would have been an amazing twist!**


	16. Drowning in Guilt

Fire. It burns so bright. It burns his eyes; his throat is closing up. Fire. It burns brighter than life. Flames dancing; like undreamt dreams; scattered behind a veil of smoke – there, but not really; a possibility, not immediate reality. Smoke is what really gets him. Not the brightness, or the heat; not the flames; not the obvious danger; no, this he can't guard against, avoid. It's the smoke. His lungs giving up; it's too much. It's air, but not oxygen; breathing in is killing him. He's stumbling. And then he's crawling. Then he's falling. Falling down; he's Alice, but there's no Wonderland, no Land – it's endless falling, never reaching the ground.

"Fitz! Fitz!" She's calling him. There's no fire; no heat; just a thunderous heartbeat and a cool hand on his cheek. "You're burning up." He can hear her getting up, and then the bathroom light is poking holes in the cloak of the night. She walks out, wobbling; overwhelmed by her belly. She sits down on the side of the bed and puts the wet towel to his forehead, her other hand cooling his neck. "It's OK. You're OK." He lets his head fall back, and he breathes out, all out; every ounce of worry, of anger, of guilt. Oh, the guilt. The guilt he lived; the guilt that he's back; the guilt that He isn't. The guilt that she's there, sitting on his side of the bed at 3am trying to take his worry, his anger, his guilt away. The guilt because she'll fail. The guilt that they'll be there, again tomorrow; same time, same place; her worried face, his shaky hands. The guilt. He tries to bury it, every morning, every evening; but it follows him, it's a noose tightening.

Neither of them sleeps until the morning. He's afraid of the dreams and she's terrified of his screams. Neither sleeps. No, instead they move to the nursery – he puts on the wall appliques and she sits in the rocking chair. They don't speak, they just exchange glances, occasionally – making sure the other one's still there, still fighting; checking to see if the demons are still haunting. They shower as the red of the sun seeps into the sky; together; it's not sex or passion, it's tenderness – a brush against her cheek a soft kiss; it's eyes meeting – his pools of guilt, her of worry; the water running, not washing away. Blood runs thicker, this can't be fixed – not by soaked towels, love and nurseries. He can't be fixed; not like this. The damn guilt.

"Maybe you should go stay with your mom." He wraps his arms around her, pulling her back into his chest, his hands on her belly; as she puts on a put of coffee.

"No." That's all she says; it's all she plans to say.

"Liv. You can't sleep next to me."

"Yes, I can." She's on the defensive instantly. She can't abandon him.

"You haven't been sleeping." He kisses her temple; gently, trying to convey that it's OK; that she could leave and it would be fine; he would survive.

"Well neither have you. You want to go stay with my mom?" She's not backing down. He turns her around – eyes to eyes.

"I'm not nine months pregnant. You haven't slept properly in months. You're exhausted and the baby's coming and you just need to take it easy. For a little bit."

"Fitz, I'm not an invalid. I'm fine. The baby is fine. We're fine. I never slept much."

"No. See, that's not the same. You – "

"Morning." She smiles weakly as she rubs her eyes. She looks up to realize she's interrupted something, something big again. It's been like this, mornings; heavy and hushed; a grey cloud; lightness and fun long gone. They try to pretend, they do; they try to shelter her; but she can see – the guilt and the fear; she can see it in their eyes, hers no longer eyes of a child. The veil of innocence long gone.

"Morning baby." Liv steps around him and walks over to her, laying a soft kiss on her head; running her hand through her unruly hair.

"The baby OK?" She asks, worried.

A smile, weak and worn out, "The baby's fine. Let's get you some breakfast." She walks to the counter and sits down, her eyes darting around, on Her, on Him – the guilt in his now joined by fear.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late." She breathes it out, as she collapses into the chair; dropping the shopping bags onto the floor, "Everything's just taking longer than…" She doesn't finish it. She doesn't say longer than we hoped, longer than I thought, longer than anyone thought; she just says longer, because in truth it's all of the above and so much more. Her mother lets it hang, she can feel it's a loaded statement said in vain, more for the orator than the spectator. Her eyes inspect her daughter's features as she feigns interest in the menu; but the mother knows, she's just avoiding her glance; the inquiring, the worried one. She's thinner than she should be; too thin for a mother-to-be; the dark circles under her eyes can no longer be covered by makeup; her iris is surrounded by a web of capillaries, a web of red.

"You haven't been sleeping." It's not a question, but she is questioning. "The baby's still kicking?" There's something in her tone, something telling Liv she knows, she knows it's not the baby; she knows it's not the kicking that keeps her up at night; not the kicking, but the screaming – the cries of fire and blood.

"Yeah, still kicking." She says it without looking up, burning a hole in the menu with her eyes.

"Is he seeing someone?"

"He's fine."

"I have a friend. Trauma special-"

"I think I'll have pasta, Bolognese." She finally lifts her gaze. She keeps the tears at bay. "Can we just talk about something else?"

A nod; a hand squeeze and a weak smile, "You're coming over after lunch. Zoey will drop by after her ballet class and we can finish her tutu."

"OK." It's simple, shimmer and sequin filled afternoon; but to her it's a getaway, it's something to look forward to.

* * *

"It's perfect! Thank you so, so, so, so much!" She can't get rid of her smile as she inspects the sequin-covered bodice; the feather-laced tulle. She spins around never taking her eyes off the mirror, admiring their handy-work. "It's so cool!" Liv can't remember the last time she felt this relaxed; but the sun is starting to come down and anxiety is creeping in, they should get going.

"Zo, get changed and we can head home." And she can see the girl's face fall.

"Can we stay to watch a movie. Please." She gives her a look that says no; her eyes speak instead of her voice; but before she opens her mouth the girl is already putting up a fight. "Once the baby comes…" They all know she's not playing fair; they know that she's banking on the parental insecurity, parental fear; but Liv lets it be, because the fear and insecurity, they're real. She needs Zoey to feel like she's still a priority; despite everything. And she fells like she's been slipping; so she lets her, lets it – allows the manipulating.

"One movie." And she sink back into her seat. It's comfortable and warm. It's safety, a home away from home; refuge, a calm in the storm. Zoey rushes to her room, to get out of the tutu and her mom walks over and sits next to her on the couch.

She pulls her in, "Come here." There's reluctance, there's fear – fear she might fall asleep, away from him; fear of what will happen if she abandons him. But her mom doesn't let go, no, she just holds her tighter, until finally she succumbs. She relaxes into her arms; her head eventually falling into her lap; her body stretching on the couch. Zoey comes out of her room slowly, quietly, looking at the couch smiling.

"She asleep?"

"Yeah. Well done with the baby card." They both smile; her mom still holding her head in her lap, Zoey throwing a soft blanket over them.

"I'll just call Fitz." He picks up after one ring. "It worked. She's asleep." She can hear the sigh of relief. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks Zoey. Kiss her goodnight for me." And she doesn't respond, there's a pregnant pause. "Zo?"

"Do you… I can come back if you want me to? You don't have to be alone." She sounds concerned, she didn't mean to. She sounds concerned, he hates it; hates that he's doing this to her.

"Zo, I'll be fine. I was actually just dozing off when you called." Lies, but he can hear her sigh. "Really. I'll be great." He can tell she's almost letting go, almost. "Look how about I promise to call you if I need to?" He struck the cord.

"You promise?" She's back to her chipper self.

"Promise." And with a couple of more promises and a soft goodbye they hang up. She goes back to them; and he, he pushes the phone across the floor; his back against the cool wall. He reaches for the glass next to the window and lifts it up; inspecting the way city lights fragment in the clinking ice. He lets the liquid burn his insides – it's a fire; fire without light, a fire he can fight. He doesn't sleep that night. He finishes the nursery. He paints stars in the dark. He paints stars. He's fine. As long as he doesn't close his eyes. He's fine. The morning sun breaks up the dark; puts out the stars. Daylight. He can't look into the past. But he still doesn't close his eyes.

* * *

She looks up at him before they go to bed; weighing whether to say it; once she does it cannot be unsaid. "I think you should go see someone." She brought it up once, he rejected the idea; insisted he'd be fine. She agreed, she didn't want to push him; didn't want to rush him. She wanted to support him; she could support him – for as long as he needed; she could do it; she could fix him. But she was failing and it was hurting him, so she tried again, encouraged by the last night's sleep.

"I slept fine last night." He smiles. She looks surprised.

"You have?" She wants to believe the lies.

"Yeah." He's not looking into her eyes and she's avoiding his. Liars. Lying. "I mean I woke up a couple of times, but it was fine." A weak smile. "Look, you'll see tonight." And she returns the smile. She'll see tonight. He'll be fine. She nods her head and then turns to her side, closing her eyes. He wraps his arms around her, their hands intertwined on her belly; the baby asleep – not kicking. Her breathing steadies, she's drifting, dreaming. He stays that way for a bit, just breathing her in, listening to her sleep. Then he gets up. He goes for a run. He comes back and showers. He reads. He writes. He writes about that night. The fire and light. He doesn't write about the blood. He writes, but nothing comes out. It's buried deep inside. It's all lies. And as the sun puts out the stars, the daylight taking away the past he crawls into bed. She shuffles slightly but doesn't awake. No, they stay like that. And it's well after dawn when she opens her eyes, for the second time in two days met by morning sun. She smiles. He is indeed fine. He's fine. She was enough. She fixed him.

She believes his lie. It's another one. Another lie to feel guilty about. Another guilt to add to the pack. The guilt he lived. The guilt he survived. The guild he came back. The guilt he didn't. The guilt he killed him.

The guilt he killed him.

* * *

**So that was a twist huh? **

**I hope this chapter wasn't too scattered - I tried to write the way I thought their thoughts would whiz around; but the problem is they're both pretty messed up, and haven't slept in a while; so what was meant to be poetic could very easily become neurotic :)**


	17. Fix You

There were things she enjoyed about pregnancy. There were, many. But now, lying in bed, awake at 1am, having to go to pee,_ again_, she can't think of any. Right now she hates this. She hates the kicking up her ribs right after she eats, and she hates the swollen feet, she hates that she is wobbly. Right now she is grumpy. She is grumpy and she is going to let him have it – she knows that _they_ wanted this and it's _their _baby, but in that moment of grumpiness – it is _his _child, _his_ fault her bladder is the size of a dime, and she won't accept anything less. She can't hear him breathing next to her – good. She can have her rant and give him a piece of her mind, without actually having to wake him up. She makes her way to the bathroom, slowly, barely – the whole entire time arguing with the baby. Only once she's done and regaining the control of the rational part of her mind does she realize that the only thing coming from the living room is dark – no light turned on, no laptop illuminating the room; no moving shadows from the TV; it is just darkness she was facing. She opens the door wider, inspecting the room, then stepping in – anger turning into worry. There's no light, and he's not on the couch. She makes her way to Zoey's door and peeks in, maybe she couldn't sleep and he was telling her one of his stories, but the room is filled only by her daughter's breathing. She calls him, but his phone starts vibrating on the kitchen counter. She tries the office although he hasn't been there since he's come back. She thinks about calling Cy, but Fitz has been avoiding him, so she opts against it – just a gut feeling. She doesn't know who else to call. She feels helpless and out of control. She's panicking. She knows, she knows rationally he could just be out, he could have gone to the park or something harmless like that. Except that it's the middle of the night and there's no note, no message and that's not like him, he knows she'd worry. And it's almost her due date; he wouldn't just leave without telling her; he wouldn't just leave her. Something's wrong – she just knows. She is pacing, small circles, stopping every little while to hold on to the couch. She's light-headed and her back hurts. She sits for a while, but then she's back on her feet – she needs to be moving. The tips of her toes emerging rhythmically, peeking from under her oversized belly. Then there's a click of the door; a click of the lock and she looks up a dark figure emerging from the hallway lights.

"Thank god." Is the first thing. And then, "Where have you been?" She can't see his face, no it's too dark for that, she can just see him taking a step back, and hanging his head.

"I went for a run." His voice is laced with guilt.

"In the middle of the night?" Her worry is evaporating, the panic leaving her body and all she's left with is anger – taking over – completely.

"Sorry." It's quiet, resigned to almost a whisper.

"Sorry? Seriously? You've been gone for almost three hours; I've been worried sick, and all I get is a sorry." She's hissing; not yelling, no, 3:30 am is not the time to yell.

"I don't know what else to tell you Liv." He sounds angry now too, irritated. He kicks off his shoes and walks off going into the bathroom. His eyes never leave the floor. She follows, in step; no longer wobbly or slow, no longer nine months pregnant; no, right now, she's just pure, distilled anger. He finally looks up as she shuts the bathroom door. The light is harsh, too bright; the light lets her see the redness in his eyes; the dark circles that stretch to his cheekbones; the light lets her see past the lies.

"Why did you go for a run?" Her voice is even now, almost emotionless, but not quite, not yet.

"I just needed to clear my head."

"You never came to bed."

"I just needed to clear my head."

"From what?"

"Nothing, Liv. I'm fine. I just need to splash some water on my face and shower." He dares. He dares her to leave, he dares her to believe. He knows how much she wants to, almost as much as he.

"No. You're not getting out of this. You say you went for a run to clear your head, but nothing is going on. You never came to bed and you look like you haven't slept for days. You just nodded as Zo told you about her day yesterday and you never do that; you didn't even ask about it today and you had five cups of coffee before midday. You don't come to bed and you're up before me every morning. And your eyes; bloodshot eyes." She slowly walks up to him, her thumb grazing his cheek, then she cups it. He leans into it. Relaxes into it. With her touch he closes his eyes. "Fitz, have you been sleeping?"

They stay like that for a while. He doesn't look up, no he keeps his eyes closed just feeling the warmth; feeling the soft skin on his cheek. Then, then she surprises him. She steps on her toes and lays a kiss on his left eyelid, softly drawing her other thumb over it, and then she does the same thing on the right side. A tear falls from his closed eye. She slowly drops kisses along his jawline. Her fingers trailing every, last one. Then she moves back to his eyes. He never looks up. She'll see past the lies; it will break her heart. But finally, she steps away, her hands still cupping his face, "Look at me." He doesn't. He can feel her stare, but he's looking away, his eyelids covering his shame. "Look at me." Her voice is weaker this time, it's a plea, it's a window into how broken she is; how much she's hurting. He can't stand this; not any more; it's time to tell her. It will break her, but then she can let him go. It will break her, but she will heal; she will heal and one day she'll be happy. It's time to break her, to set her free.

He finally opens his eyes and for a moment she's just lost in them, lost in their pain, trying to read it, to understand it, to take it away. "Why can't you sleep?" Her thumbs are still caressing his face. Barely touching it, but he feels the electricity.

"It's the guilt." He can't believe he's saying it; he can't believe he's letting it out, when he's tried so hard to keep it in, keep it buried.

"Because you lived?" Her voice high-pitched; the hope trying to mask the fear.

"Because I killed…" Her eyes are narrowing, she's shaking her head; but never dropping her gaze, never looking away. "Liv, I killed James."

She shakes her head. "No, no, you didn't."

"He came back for me…" He steps out of her reach and turns away, once again dropping his gaze. "He came back for me. He got out and then, then he realized I wasn't there and he ran back in. He went back in for me. He went back in and I, I was stuck. It was too bright, too hot, I couldn't see. He came back for me, and I could hear, but I couldn't see." He falls to his knees and she's just staring at him. Just listening. "I called out. I called out to him. He found me. He actually found me. In a burning building." He chuckles to himself. Not because it's funny, but because of what comes next. He chuckles at the cruelty of life, cruelty of death; because that's all that he can. "He opened the door. But the fire, the heat, it just exploded. The flames. Climbing up like a vine. And then suddenly they go wild. I ran out. I ran. He was there. He was OK. He was right behind me. But then, then the floor collapsed and he fell through. He tried to hold on, I tried to hold him up. But it was too hot. The flames were all around. I tried to hold on. But then, then I just let go. I let go of his hand and he fell. Fell into the flames. And I ran. I ran outside. I killed him. He's the reason I lived. And I… I'm the reason he died."

She doesn't know what to say. She just stares at the back of his head. She's trying to process. Her emotions are running wild, raging flames taking over her mind. Pain, he was in so much pain and he didn't let her in, he didn't let her help him. Hurt, he was hurting and she couldn't fix it. Fear, he was afraid and she couldn't take the fear away. Guilt, he was drowning in guilt; she could see it, she has been seeing it, but she just let it; she just left him, drowning. How could she do this to him, how could she let him believe; how could she fail to fix him. She sits on her knees. Behind him. "It was an accident." She's crying. He can feel it. He can feel the tears through the thin material of his shirt, he can feel her tears rolling down her cheeks; he can feel her tears falling on him. He thinks she's crying for him; for the man she thought was him; for the lost dreams. He thinks she's mourning his soul, he thinks she's letting him go. She's not. She's crying because she thinks she did this to him, she failed to see it, she failed to fix it, she failed to fix him. She's not letting him go, she's trying to hold on. Finally he speaks up.

"You have to let me go."

"What? No!"

"Livvy, I'm no good. I'm damaged goods. And I'll damage you too."

"No. I failed you. I know I failed you. But I can fix you. I can, I just… I just need some time. You can't leave. You can't just leave. I can fix this." She's sobbing now and he turns around.

"Livvy, what are you talking about?"

"I know I failed. I should have caught this earlier. I should have known what was wrong. I should have known." She's shaking; her whole body trembling.

"No, no, no. This, this isn't on you. You couldn't have known. You couldn't have caught this. You couldn't have fixed this. You couldn't have fixed me." He's lifting her chin up, trying to catch her eyes, but they're darting around, avoiding – the tears just keep on falling. "Liv." Nothing. "Livvy." He's pleading. "Look at me." She finally does. "You couldn't have fixed me. Nobody can. I can't be fixed. That's why I want you to leave." She just stares at him. The tears no longer falling, the tracks still shimmering in the light. But they dry. They dry while they sit there. In silence. No time, endless time; two lost souls in the universe. Finally, she speaks.

"I couldn't have fixed you." It's soft. A realization. Not for him, for her. "But we'll find someone to." And that, that is for him, for them. They'll find someone who can. They'll find someone to do what she can't. "I can't leave. I left. OK? That night, I freaked out and I left. I tried. I tried to move on. I tried to have a life. But for fifteen years I was reading your articles, taking in the words; I was looking for you in the streets; I was seeing your face, everywhere. You were everywhere. I left and you were still everywhere. And every time you left now, every time you were gone, I felt so lost, so alone. When we're apart; when you're away – I lose my way. I lose me. And I hate it. I hate that I need you to breathe, to eat, to sleep. I hate that I need you just to be, to exist. I hate it. And I tried to change it. For fifteen years I tried. And I tried when you were on the verge of death in that hospital. I tried. But I can't. So I can't leave. I can't leave you, without leaving a part of me too – a part that I need, a part that makes me, me. I can't leave. So don't push me. Don't make me." She's not crying. She's just pleading. Her heart racing; hurried breathing. She's panicking. He just pulls her in; wrapping his arms around her protectively.

"OK. It's OK. We're OK." Whispering. To her, to him. Just whispering. "I'm sorry."

They hear Zoey moving about. It's morning. The night long gone. He gets up slowly, then lifts her up. She washes her face; water taking away the traces of pain. He just watches her, mesmerized. He's not good enough; he'll never be good enough – all he can offer her is love. And somehow, she thinks that's enough. Somehow she thinks he's enough. She steps towards the door, but he pulls her back in and kisses her slowly. But then her tongue is playing with his bottom lip – it's salty; it's laced with tears. Suddenly the kiss is no longer slow, or soft – it's desperate, it's confused – it's him telling her – he loves her, he needs her and he wants her; it's her telling him – she'll never leave. It's a magical kiss; except there's no such thing. When they break away, they're both still afraid; afraid that they hurt each other more than they heal; that for all its power their love could kill – kill them; it could kill itself. Loving the other more than they love themselves; losing who they are in _them_. They are no longer capable of existing alone, and that scares them both. All great love stories are tragedies; all great loves loss of identity. They find themselves in each other, but they're lost apart – and this nightmare showed them just how much. And of that, that void, of that emptiness – they are afraid.

But their millisecond of fear is broken up by a splash – and they both look up.

"Is that?"

"Yeah."

"We're having a baby." And their lips stretch into a smile in a kiss.

* * *

**So this was one of the most emotionally draining things I've ever written and that's saying something considering all my stories reside in the neighbourhood of Doom and Gloom. **

**Now, Fitz will go and see someone, because as a child who spent many hours in therapy - I believe in its holy powers of healing. And don't worry, I won't leave Liv like this either, but her wounds are of different kind, and from a different time, so it healing will be a bit different. And we'll come to that. But in the meantime - THEY'RE HAVING A BABY, and they're gonna have some happy :)**

**Thanks for reviewing - you sticking with this story is really inspiring. Especially when writing chapters like this :)**


	18. Nur

"I found grandma! And I got you your coffee." Zoey exclaims excitedly as she swings the door of the hospital room open, Diane following close behind. "The lady in the cafeteria said that this much caffeine is really not good for you and you should consider leading a more stress-free lifestyle." She recites it with a grin handing him his triple espresso.

"I like that lady." Liv speaks up, her voice cheerful, but not really, not quite. And she flashes a smile, but it's not right; no he can tell she's upset by the comment. His hand squeezes hers gently, and he lowers his lips to her forehead, kissing it. He whispers softly, so that only she can hear, "I'm good. I promise." Her smile instantly widening.

"Why don't you update mom before I can snatch that coffee from your hand and drink it myself, and Zo and I will hang out." He gets the hint straight away and walks over to Diane, leading her out.

"Come here Zo." She pats the empty space on the bed next to her and shoots the girl a mischievous look.

"You sure?"

"Yes. I want to cuddle with my baby girl." And in moments they're a big spoon and a little spoon.

She's absentmindedly smoothing out Zoey's unruly curls thinking of a way to start up the conversation that they need to have, when the girl breaks her out of her thoughts.

"Is Fitz OK?"

"Why would you ask that?" She can't see her face; she can't tell – what she knows and what she's just guessing at. She tries to keep her voice even, tries to sound calm; but she's panicking internally. She doesn't lie, not to Zoey, that's just not the way they are. But this, this is different, this is cruelty of life that a twelve year-old shouldn't know about.

"Well he hasn't been sleeping and you seem really worried about it." She turns her head slightly to the side so that she can look her mom in the eye. "Worried about him."

She kisses her temple and with a deep breath says, "He's not OK. Not yet, but he'll get there. _We_'ll get there." She kisses her temple again, and squeezes the arm that's wrapped around the girl's abdomen. "I want to talk to you about something else though." Zo nods her head and gives her a half-smile encouraging her to go on. "We haven't really…" She doesn't know how to say it. It's so very last minute. They should have had this conversation months ago, but somehow, somehow life got in the way; life got out of hand. "We haven't really talked about how you feel about the baby and everything. A lot's been happening and we didn't really get a chance to talk about it. It's been us for such a long time, just you and me and then there was Fitz. And suddenly we're getting married and having a baby and I just feel like… Like maybe I didn't give you enough time to adjust."

"What are you talking about mom?"

"We were always a team, you and I. And I just don't want you to feel like I'm somehow leaving the team. Like somehow you are no longer a priority."

The girl finally turns around, a wide smile lighting up her eyes. "Have you been reading those crappy parenting books again mom?"

"Maybe." She says it gingerly, playfully. It's been a running joke between them for years. The way that books generalize and fail to apply to anything relating to them; the way the books perceive them as an anomaly; something to straighten out; not something to beat.

Zoey's face suddenly turns serious as her hand reaches out to Liv's cheek. "You are leaving the team." Liv opens her mouth to protest, but the girl cuts her off before she can even start. "You are, but that's fine. So am I. We're no longer a team like before, because now we've got a family. We've got Fitz. And Karen and Gerry. And soon we'll have a baby. I love Fitz and I love you with him. He makes you so happy. Even when you're worried there's still a light in your eyes that used to be out. And he's an amazing dad. To all of us. So I love that you got married; I love that, I wanted that. And the baby – I had eight months to adjust. And seriously mom, throughout the hell that's been the past five months you still showed up for my recitals and PTA meetings. You helped with tutus and you made lunches. You tuck me in every evening, although I'm almost thirteen. And most importantly, you don't just tell me that you love me, you show me; you make sure I never doubt it. You make it OK for me to be who I am. You're an amazing mom." She kisses her mom's cheek lightly, just before a tear rolls down it. "Oh, come on, no crying!"

"I'm hormonal. Shush!" She lets the tear dry and speaks softly through her smile. "Zo, we are expanding the team and we do have a family, but I want you to, I need you to know – we _are_ still a team. We'll still keep on doing our things. We'll have _Gilmore Girls_ marathons, and we'll have our spring weekends in the Hamptons and we'll do the Christmas sales shopping spree. We'll still do all these things. It might take a while to figure it out, to figure everything out, but we'll still do our stuff. Just because we've got a family doesn't mean we can't still be a just-us team." And she can see her eyes slowly light up, childishness returning to them. It's what she needed to hear; it's what Liv needed to say – both reassured that while everything changes the two of them; they stay the same. Before she can respond the door swings open and the doctor comes in.

"Time to check how you're doing." And with that Zoey's jumping out of the bed, restless to run away – she really doesn't want to witness this.

"Why don't you go find Fitz and grams?" With that she runs out, the speed of light.

He comes in just as the doctor's finishing. "So how're we doing?" He sounds way too chipper, way too caffeinated.

"Almost there. I'll send someone in shortly to prep her and we should be able to get started shortly. Are you going to be in the room?"

"Oh, yes. I'll be here. I'm on hand squeezing duty – it's my expression of solidarity.'

"No it really isn't, it's my way of punishing him." They both chuckle and he leans down and kisses her softly.

"Is anyone going to be recording?"

"Well-" He starts with a playful smile.

"No. There will be no recording of me pushing out a baby."

"It's the miracle of life."

"It's messy. And bloody. And what do you imagine we'd do with the recording Fitz?"

"Well, we could…" He's trying to think, but he knows already he's lost; he's just humoring her; giving her a chance to vent.

"What? Watch it during family reunions? Christmas morning special? Play it for it's eighteenth birthday? I mean honestl-" And he cuts her off with a kiss. Both can feel the other's smile against their lips.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then." The doctor says with a soft chuckle; as the two of them break out slightly startled – as if they had forgotten for a second that she was there. "I'll be back in a little while."

She absentmindedly strokes his thigh as she looks up. "Could you get mom and Zo. We can hang out until it's time."

"Yeah." Another quick kiss and he's up, on his way to the door. But then he slowly turns around, hesitating for a second, a moment of frozen time. "I spoke to your mom. She gave me the number of that specialist. I called him. I made an appointment for next week." She nods with a soft smile, relief creeping behind her curving lips. "Liv, it'll be OK. We'll be fine. All of us." With that he turns on his heel and goes to get the two remaining Pope girls. She just looks on thinking about what he'd said. Thinking about how much sense it made. They will be fine; all of them – they deserve some light in their life.

* * *

There's a moment of quiet. A moment of quiet before the first cry. A moment when they hold their breath – the doctors and the nurses, the parents; the spectators and observers. A moment of anticipation. A moment for a new life to start. A moment in which he squeezes her hand and kisses (once again) her sweaty forehead. A moment for all eyes to turn the same way. A moment of wait. A moment of quiet. And then there's a cry. So loud. So alive. A cry that makes everyone in a room smile; that lets them sigh, breathe out.

It's a girl. And the rest seems like a blur. They're getting him up, rushing him to cut the chord. His hands are shaking. He thinks to himself – surely he's not the best person to be doing this. But than that's just parental insecurity that will follow him for the next eighteen years; longer probably. And they're cleaning her, wiping her, wrapping her – it's all rushed – race against the cries. Liv just looks on; never taking her eyes off. He's tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear, trying to get it off her face – "You did so well." He whispers it to her, his voice a mere breath, little droplets – droplets of love. "We did great." She leans her head on his chest. Just for a moment. All she can hear – his heartbeat and the soft crying. Finally. They bring the baby. She hesitates for a moment and then looks up at him – pleading. She's scared – she's so tiny, so fragile. "It's OK." And he takes her hands, extending them; putting his underneath – supporting; but she, she can do this. Then suddenly there's a little baby in her arms, this brand new life and it's magical. The crying stops, almost instantly, the baby barely shuffling. "She's perfect."

"Yes, she is." And they smile, unconsciously, because in that instant their reality is better than any dream. They smile, mesmerized: they made this life. Everyone leaves, but they don't notice, no they just stare for a bit – fascinated – no longer scared. "I should go get Zo and your mom." And she nods her head, her eyes never leaving the miniature face.

"Wow." For all her words; the advanced vocabulary stored in her mind that she never learned in school; for all her youthful wisdom, wow is all she can come up with. Wow, is all that seems to fit. "She's tiny." Fitz smiles his hands on her shoulders – he wants her to know that they're still the same, he's still her Fitz and she can still, always count on him; he wants her to know this doesn't change the way they are; this changes everything, but it also changes nothing. It's just hands lightly squeezing her shoulders; it's just touch, contact; but really, it's reassuring; for her in a life-changing moment she has no control over it's stability; it's constancy. Liv is holding her hand, her thumb drawing soft circles on the back of it. There's no need to say it anymore, they're showing it – she's still a priority; she's still their girl; still their Zoey.

"You want to hold her?" She looks up at Fitz, panicky, she's not ready for this; she's never held such a tiny baby.

"I…" She looks at the floor briefly, but then lifts her eyes to meet Liv's. "I'm scared I could hurt her. What if I break her?"

"Zo, you can't break her. We'll show you." With that Fitz wraps his arms around her and she folds hers into a little niche his are providing and Liv slowly hands them over the baby. She seems frozen for a second, too terrified to move, but then she eases into it once the baby shuffles and opens her eyes lazily.

"Hi." And there's a smile. A kind Liv hasn't seen before. A kind that's loving and protective all at once; a kind that signals growing up. Fitz slowly pulls his arms away, giving her time to look up, to ask him to stop. She doesn't. She just keeps looking down, into a pair of bright grey eyes.

"So, Zo. You ready to tell us what name you decided on?"

"Yeah." Her eyes are still fixed on the baby and it's a good thing. She doesn't see them panicking; their breaths hitched. It seemed like a good idea at the time, after weeks of insomnia, to tell her she could pick the name, to tell her she'd have a say. They'd pick the first name, but she'd get to pick the middle one; but they all knew that would be the one that the baby would be called. That would be the one. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now they were half terrified of the potential outcome of their brilliance. "Nur." They exchange a look. "It means light." They exchange a smile. It fits her. It's just right.

"Sofia Nur Grant."

"I like it!" Zo says with a smile, obviously very satisfied.

"And how do you feel about this one?" She looks up, slightly confused; she thought they'd just decided on the name; what else is there. "Zoey Harper Grant."

"What?" Her eyes dart between the two of them, trying to read their play.

"Zo, your mom and I were talking about this for a while, but now seems like a perfect time. I want to adopt you too. I mean, you're my kid. We know it. But we want everyone to know it. I want you to be my kid officially. And now that we're married it's just a formality." She looks at him, wide eyes, completely stunned. "If you want to, of course." He adds, his voice showing signs panic. They only ever accounted for the possibility of her saying yes; of her agreeing.

She just shakes her head and mutters a soft OK. She doesn't say anything else. She doesn't need to – her face says more than words ever could. A thank you and an I love you.

A shadow lifts from her face, a shadow no one even knew was there; a shadow caused by the fear of abandonment, by fear of losing her parents again; the fear of being left behind for a second time. Now, now there's two of them, no there's three; there's five; there's six people in the family; six people to step in; six people to love and six people to love her back. There's too many people for her to fall through the cracks – no she'll be fine; she has a family now. It's no longer just Liv; she no longer only has endless love, now she has security. And that, that lets her breathe.

At twelve years old Zoey Harper Grant got all she dreamed of – she got a family to keep, a family that couldn't disappear one snowy evening; a family with ties too strong to break, with love impossible to shake. As she is looking down into those big grey eyes she thinks to herself – Nur, Nur is just right. She brought all this light.

* * *

**How's that for fluff!**

**I hope you guys liked that. I wanted to focus on Zo, because I thought it would be fascinating to see how she sort of fits in now that everything's changing. **

**Now, a question - I'm thinking of writing a prequel to this - basically when they're at University (so first time around). It's been in my head for a while, but I'm not sure if you'd be interested in reading that, especially since we all know how it will end. This story isn't finished yet though and I'm not sure if it would get a bit confusing doing both concurrently. **

**Thank you so much for your feedback for the last chapter; honestly it made me smile so much - your kind and generous reviews honestly inspire me endlessly. **


	19. Father's Day

He's standing next to the window holding the infant in his arms, rocking her softly – left, then right; left, then right – as he watches the city lights go out, one by one. She opens the door slowly and pauses for a minute just taking the moment in; she takes a minute, a minute to just be happy. She finally steps in, letting the door close behind her with a soft creak.

"Making most of your day, huh?" He turns around, slowly, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Well it's only Father's Day once a year. And it's Little Miss Smiley's first one. So I thought I'd get a head start." She returns his smile, but then it fades, a drop of ink dissolving in the water – was it ever there? She kisses the infant's head and then she's on her toes giving him a soft peck, her fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

"You couldn't sleep." He looks at the floor; he doesn't want to see her face fall, the worry creep in, once again. No, he can't witness it. It's not the lack of sleep that gets to him; it's what it does to her that worries him.

"No. Not really." _Inhale._ Put the baby down in the crib. _Exhale_. Draw his finger slowly across her chubby cheek. _Inhale._ Turn around. Her face. _Exhale._ "It is getting better Liv. It's just taking a while. We knew it would take some time." He walks over to her and pulls her into an embrace. Inhaling once again; but this time it's not air that fills his lungs – it's her that gives him life.

"I know." She murmurs it softly, the sound almost lost in the fabric of his shirt. "I just… worry. I don't know how to help you. I don't know how to make it better. And that just… I hate that."

He steps away, suddenly there's space; space between them – emptiness. He lifts her head and bends his down – eye to eye. "This. This right here, this is helping me. You are helping me. Every day. Just having you around, talking to you, holding you; seeing you across the room – it grounds me, it helps me, it heals me. You heal me."

She smiles and takes his hand, their fingers interlaced. She leads him to the couch. "Lie down."

"What are you doing? We haven't been cleared to do _that_ yet."

"We're not having sex in the nursery! We're cuddling. And I might fall asleep. And you might fall asleep. And if you don't that's OK. Because you can just listen to her breathe and that, that will help you heal. And I get to feel your heartbeat under my cheek, so I'll know you're OK and I won't worry. We'll just lie here, listening to her breathe and for a little while everything will be perfect. And then, then we can go back to swimming against the current."

"I love you, you know that." And they settle down on the couch, their limbs intertwined; her head on his chest, his heartbeat easing her to sleep. And he, he lies there listening to them breathe and that's enough; to him it's everything; it's a way to heal.

When he awakes the sun is already high and she is long gone; the quiet of the night replaced by a symphony of clinking sounds, a harmony of muffled voices coming from the kitchen.

"Zoey!"

"What, he likes chocolate!"

"Yeah, I'm with Zo, Liv."

"I know he likes chocolate, but unless you want him to become diabetic ease up with the icing."

"Can I then at least add more chocolate chips to the next batch?" Karen chimes in with a mischievous grin, winking at Gerry and Zoey; a gesture Liv doesn't miss.

"_Sure_, add more chocolate chips." She says with faux-annoyance in her voice, adding under her breath, "You three will be the end of me."

"So what are you doing?" He startles them and they all look up, obviously disappointed.

"Dad! It was meant to be a surprise." All three kids attempt their best pouting faces.

"Well, when you're planning a surprise, quiet is usually a good idea." He kisses tops of their heads as he joins them in the kitchen, finally wrapping his arms around Liv. She relaxes into them, her back molding to his chest and they just stay that way, locked in the embrace.

"So, a surprise, huh?" He whispers softly in her ear.

"I didn't know about it. I woke up this morning and they were already baking." She turns her head slightly and he kisses her – it's quick, but not rushed; it's soft, but still strong – it's like gravity, pulling them both in. "You slept." She says with a small smile. He just kisses her again and pulls her in even more, he needs her close; and she loves it so. Three hours of sleep - it's a small victory, but they'll take it; they'll take anything.

"More chocolate?"

"Gerry!" She reprimands, but the strictness of her voice is lost in her smile.

"I'm with the kids, Liv! I think they should add more chocolate."

"Oh you do, do you?" She turns around with a smirk and reaches for the bowl of icing. "Well, alright then." And with that she's taking a handful of icing and smearing it on his face; the shock and indignation soon replaced by his signature grin as he reaches down and tries to return the favor. The kids join in and in mere moments the chocolate chips are flying, getting stuck in the icing on their faces. He finally manages to get the bowl from her hands and she tries to run away, but he catches her by the waist, spinning her around as Zo and Karen attack him with more icing, trying to help her out. Suddenly, it's a full-blown fight – girls against guys. They're all in a trance; lost in the sugar and the laughter when a soft cry from the baby monitor breaks them out.

"I'll go get her." Zoey says, almost before anyone even registers the change.

"Can I help?" Karen asks, reluctance clear in her voice; she's still working out her fear of babies; her unease.

"Yeah, you two go. You'll need to feed her and probably change her. Ger will help us clean this up." He shoots him an apologetic smile; but it has to be done. "And then we'll all get ready and we can go to the park."

It takes them hours to actually leave the house. Liv does the dishes, Fitz and Gerry scrub the floor and the cabinets, but the icing is sticky and smudges oh-so-easily. Karen and Zo play with Nur until she needs to be changed again, forgetting to get ready themselves. So by the time they're reaching the park the sun is already making its way down. They play soccer for a while, while Liv and Karen chat sprawled out in the Sun. It's relaxed, it's comfortable, it's fun – it's what he's always wanted; it's his dream; his reason to live. They stay like that until the evening, until the Sun begins to set, the light barely peeking through the gaps between the tall buildings.

"Why don't you guys head home, and I'll stop by the Chinese takeout to get us some dinner?" He says as he pulls his sweater on; cashmere perfectly hugging his body.

As he's making his way home, bags of food in hands he sees a man. A man he knows, or at least a man he used to know, but it seems years ago; a lifetime ago. Across the street, a river of cars between them, there's Cyrus Beene. He stumbles out of a bar; he's hours past drunk; no, now he's completely gone. He should cross the street; he should go there; he should say – he doesn't know what he'd say. He's the reason the man is this way; he's the reason he has whiskey for breakfast, lunch and dinner; he's the reason his life has fallen apart. He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. He doesn't move. He doesn't go to him, he doesn't talk to him. He stays there and looks away. He looks away, but that image is all he can see for the rest of the evening. He walks away, but it follows him. That image, and the familiar guilt.

One by one the kids go to bed and then it's just them. She stands in the doorway and looks at him, she waits for him, but he just stays where he is – he can't sleep; no, he knows tonight he wouldn't be able to get away from the dreams.

"Go ahead, I'll join you in a bit."

She nods her head; at this point she knows that's just what he says; she knows he won't come to bed. She turns around, but then changes her mind, walking over to the couch. She kisses him deeply and he looks up, slightly surprised.

"It's just taking some time." She says with a small smile; the worry seemingly gone. "I left your iPad in the nursery, the book you got from the kids is on it."

She turns around to walk away, but he doesn't let go of her hand; he pulls her back. "You're amazing. Thank you." He just kisses her palm and holds her hand to his lips; breathing her in. She plays with his hair for a moment and then says, somewhat wistfully, "Happy Father's day Fitz."

She doesn't sleep. No, she worries. She's just mastered the pretending; for him. He doesn't sleep. No, he worries. He wishes he could pretend, for her, for them; but he can't. Every once in a while he closes his eyes and all he can see is the image of a broken man, stumbling into a busy street. He wishes he could help, but he can't. So he'll just pretend it's not real; he'll pretend it was just a bad dream. Just another dream haunting him.

* * *

**This chapter was actually meant to be Fitz in therapy, but that will be the next one. This one was just meant to be a bit of Father's day fluff, but then, somehow it got a bit heavy and dark (which actually happens to my writing a surprising amount).**

**Hope you're all having a lovely Sunday, and well that this didn't put a cloud over it (in case it did, have some icing to cheer you up).**


	20. Fix You II

"I haven't slept since Father's day." He says while absentmindedly drawing his fingers through his hair.

"You haven't slept at all in four days?" The man in the chair opposite of him leans forward; closing the notebook in his lap.

"No." He throws his head back on the couch, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I can't do this anymore. I can't hold my daughter because I'm terrified I'll drop her from exhaustion. I can't carry on a normal conversation with the kids, let alone with Liv. I can't take it anymore. What this is doing to us, to her. She hasn't slept properly in days either. She's trying to cover all the basis, to be everywhere, to make this OK and of course she can't. She can't give up and it's eating her alive. My wife is losing it before my eyes and I'm too tired to do anything about it. So, I just, I need something. Either pills, or more intense therapy, to be committed – something. This, this isn't working. Not for me, and certainly not for my family." He slowly lifts his head up and is met by a pair of piercing dark-brown eyes.

"What happened on Father's Day?"

"What do you mean?" He knows exactly what he means, but he doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to go there, to re-live; no he'd rather shut it off - take meds, pills, anything over re-living it.

"I mean, why do you think you haven't been able to sleep."

"If I knew that I wouldn't be here."

"But you are." The man says with a coy smile. "You do know, you know why you can't sleep. And you say you're sick of this but you won't let me help you, you won't let me make it better. You know exactly what triggered it and you're keeping it from me. You think pills will help? They won't. They'll let you sleep, but they won't ease anything; they won't make whatever's eating at you go away, they won't make you forget. And frying off portions of your brain – you really think that's what your family needs, on top of everything. And getting you committed – you think doing that to Liv is-"

"Don't you dare drag Liv into this. I am doing everything to protect her form this."

"You're not and you know it." The man stares at the him, his eyes challenging him, daring him. "What happened on Father's day?"

"I saw my former editor, Cyrus Beene on the street." That's a lovely way to sugar-coat it, underplay it, he thinks to himself.

"His husband was in Syria, wasn't he?"

Fitz nods his head, yes; shocked that the man knows.

"He died, didn't he?"

His eyes widen, he can't pretend; can't hide the shock on his face. "How do you know?"

"Well the bombing was a big deal. Two Americans killed, three injured – it was covered in the news. And, well, I did my research. Before I took on your case. I like to inform myself about my patients."

He doesn't know what to say, so he just stares ahead – his eyes darting between the ticking clock on the opposite wall and the window – avoiding the man's eyes at all times.

"Was he a friend?"

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to talk about James. About whether they were friends. He wants to leave, to walk away, but he can't. This, this is the only way he gets better; this is the only way for him to heal – because even his kids, Liv – none of them can do this for him. She can do anything, she can do everything; but not this.

"I don't know."

"You don't know if you were friends?" The man asks in a condescending voice – it's a challenge.

"No, I don't." And he finally looks at him; he's finally done avoiding. "I don't know. Because friends are people you meet for coffee breaks, guys you get beer with; talk to occasionally. Friends help you when you're moving houses, or when you're buying a car; they let you bitch about your wife. You can tell them secrets; you tell them your fuck-ups; friends give you advice. But what do you call someone who's saved your life?"

The man doesn't look surprised. No, there's nothing in his eyes – just focus and clarity; quiet understanding. "How did he save your life?"

"I was stuck in the fire. I couldn't get out. He came back for me." No details he gave to Liv, no emotion in the story. No, this isn't personal – this is clean.

"He came back for you?"

"Yes. He went back into a burning building to save me."

"Did he call your name?"

"What do you mean?" He's starting to get frustrated again.

"I mean did he call your name? Or did he just call out? What did he shout?"

He pauses for a moment. He replayed this scene a million times in his head; he's seen it in his dreams; yet somehow; this detail is elusive. It's out of reach. He closes his eyes. Fire. Fire and light. Smoke. The burning in his throat. And then, then he calls out – there's a response. He called out.

"He didn't come back for you." The answer is apparently evident from the mixed emotions on his face. "He was a doctor; he saved lives and that day, he was trying to save them as well. Not your life, a life."

It should make him feel better, it should. But he knows that this doesn't get him off the hook, not really. He may not have come back for him, but he's the reason he's dead; he's the one who let go of his hand. His jaw is clenching, his eyes are back on the floor – the man knows there's more; there has to be more.

"So how did he get you out?"

"I followed his voice and found the door and then I made my way out."

"And James, did he come out as well?"

Silence.

"Fitz, did James come out as well?"

"No. He got left behind. He died."

"He got left behind, or _you_ left him behind?"

"I… I am the reason he died. He was behind. He was walking behind me, but the place, fire, everything was crumbling. The floor fell through and I tried to give him a hand. I tried to hold him. But it was too hot and there was too much smoke. I tried, but then I gave up. I let go and he fell. He literally fell into the flames." A tear rolls down his cheek. He doesn't notice it. No he can't feel it. He can't feel anything. Nothing but guilt.

"You couldn't have saved him."

He lets out a laugh, or is it a muffled cry? "I could have. I should have."

"You couldn't have saved him."

He looks up, frustrated. "You don't know that!"

"You couldn't have saved him." He keeps repeating it, in the same tone, same intonation, same facial expression. It's frustrating and exasperating and Fitz doesn't see any point in it. He wasn't there; he didn't know James and he certainly doesn't know him – so how can he know this.

"Stop saying that like it means something. I could have saved him, but I didn't. I am the reason-"

"You couldn't have saved him."

"STOP SAYING THAT!"

"Good you're angry! You're angry and you're fighting. Now think about this – was he fighting? Was he holding on?"

And that's the moment he realizes – he's not the reason James Novak died.

"He let go of my hand." It's quiet. A whisper of a broken man. A whisper of someone who can get his life back. "He wasn't holding on. He wasn't trying to get up. He was for a while. And then, then he just stopped. And I held on, but then I couldn't, not anymore. But when I gave up, he was already gone. He was gone."

"He didn't come back for you. He didn't die because of you. He died before you let go, probably from smoke inhalation. He saved a life and then he died. It's awful and cruel and it's life. But your life, you, are not the reason he died. You didn't get to live, _because_ he died. It wasn't tipping the scales; it wasn't a galactic exchange; it was chance, it was an accident."

He doesn't say anything and the man doesn't push him. He lets him think. He lets him contemplate this new truth. He lets him contemplate his own mind's fallibility, his own mind's tricks, the way he dreamed up reality. They sit in silence, the man scribbling in his notebook as he takes time to process. This changes everything, yet it changes nothing. He didn't kill him, but he watched him die – the image forever etched in his mind. A body falling into the flames; the feeling of hands slipping; the smell of burning flesh. The guilt is leaving him, slowly dissipating, but everything else – it still haunts him; it will haunt him. Death like a noose around his neck, following him in life, following him every day.

"Time's up."

He gets up gathering his things and then he pauses. The man speaks, "Next week, same time?" He just nods his head with a faint smile.

"Thank you Dr. Wright." And with that he leaves the soft hues of the room and steps into a cloudy New York afternoon.

He's walking back a bouquet in hand – she's had her first full day at work, a first full day away from Nur; her mom watching the girls; and on top of that – this, this is a reason to celebrate. Soft rain starts, the kind that waters down the summer heat and then evaporates, back into the air; the kind that lasts only for a moment and then disappears without a trace, taking with it all hope of a cool night. It's the kind that slows everything down, just a little bit – it lets everything breathe. The kind that almost seems foggy, like a mist. But no, that's not it – it's not an illusion, not mist, it's really him. Stumbling. Again. Rambling.

"Cy!" He yells, before he can think better of it. He yells, before he can turn his back, before he can walk away.

The man turns around, his eyes looking for the voice, searching the street for a familiar face. It takes him a while – everything is moving, and so is everyone, and he, he just stands still, a moment of calm, a break from stumbling in the chaos. He finally locates the man; he stands out – he's the only one who looks as broken as he feels; he's the only one who seems as stuck.

* * *

He's sitting on the stool, his fingers tapping on the polished surface nervously; his eyes affixed, not blinking; his ears – listening. And there it is – the lock turning, and then the handle; the door opening. She steps in, exhausted. It's almost midnight, her first day overran – the day stretching long into the night. She's taken aback, she didn't expect him to wait; she hoped he might be asleep, or just in their bed, waiting. He walks over to her, a nervous smile on his face.

"I missed you today." He kisses her forehead and than makes his way down to her neck. She tries to kiss him back, but he steps away – he needs space, clarity, and she's intoxicating.

"I did something."

"Fitz?" She sounds worried. He grabs her hand and walks her over to the couch. She looks down and then turns around looking at him, confused. Before she can speak he drags her away into the bedroom, shutting the door. "What is Cyrus Beene doing on our couch?"

"I couldn't leave him."

"Leave him where?"

"He's been drinking. I saw him a couple of times."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" She sounds hurt, offended.

"I saw him, but I didn't do anything about it. I saw him the other day, Sunday, and I, I just, that's why I couldn't sleep. And then today, today in therapy, I realized – Liv, I didn't kill James. Me letting go of his hand… He… I'm not the reason he's dead."

"I know." She looks at him teary-eyed; of course she knows, she's known for a while. "Fitz, he didn't hold on. If you'd just let go, he could have held on. But he didn't."

He's starting to get angry – how could she know this, know it and keep it from him; let him torture himself senseless? "How could you not tell me?"

"You felt so guilty. You were consumed by it. If I had told you, you wouldn't have believed me. You wouldn't have believed it. You needed time, time to figure it out."

She's right. He wouldn't have believed her. He wouldn't have believed it. But she let him torture himself over it. She let him go through hell. But then he realizes – she put herself through hell for him. She knew and yet she couldn't help him. She knew and she didn't try to fix him. She knew and she just let him, gave him time to heal. He didn't sleep, but neither did she; he had nightmares and she took care of him; he was falling apart and she held him up. She put herself though hell, because of him, for him. She loved him enough to give him time. She loved him enough to fight her instincts. She loved him enough to believe in him, even when he couldn't see it, even when he couldn't love her for it. Suddenly he feels guilty, for getting angry, for not realizing this sooner, for not protecting her; he feels guilty for failing her. But then, as instantly, the guilt is gone with a single touch, her palm against his cheek. The guilt is gone and all he can feel is love. The guilt is gone.

"I know it's crazy. OK. I know it's crazy. He's off the rails. And I mean completely. It took him a minute to get out my name. He lost his house-keys and he hadn't showered in days. Liv, he was a mess. And I, I just couldn't walk away. It's not guilt. It's not because I feel I owe him. But James, James saved my life, and he, he wouldn't want this – not for anyone, and especially not for the love of his life. I know it's crazy, but I couldn't just leave him. So I brought him here. And Diane helped me, we bathed him and changed him, and put him to sleep. He just, Liv, maybe we can help him, maybe we can fix this, maybe we can save him. And I know, OK, I know we have a newborn baby, and I know your work is crazy and I know we're just seeing the light here, for the first time in months; I get it, but I'm a stay-at-home dad anyway; and I can do it now, I'm better; I'll be OK. And I can take care of him, just a bit, just to show him someone still cares, that someone is still there. Maybe this time, maybe he'll hold onto my hand."

She just stares at him, blankly, as he keeps on talking, never inhaling. Then, silence. She's quiet. He nervously bites his bottom lip, getting ready for another pitch. "You done?" She finally asks with a smile, and he opens his mouth – he'll fight, he might be able to change her mind, to get her on his side. But she doesn't give him a chance, no her lips are crashing on his, her tongue storming in – it's not battling, they're dancing in sync. She finally breaks away and chuckles softly when she sees his shocked face.

"You, Fitzgerald Grant, are a good man. A great man."

He just looks at her, unsure of what to say – words just seem insufficient. Instead he pulls her into an embrace, whispering – "I love you", a thousand times over. Finally, he speaks up, "Let's go to sleep." She grins as they collapse on the soft sheets.

"We might have to move." Her head is on his chest, his hands drawing soft lines on her arm.

"But then we won't have the stars." He says struggling to keep his eyes open.

"We don't need them. The present is so much better than the past." He just nods slowly, already gone – his mind finally at peace, resting.

She fixed him; she knew when to let him be. _She_ fixed_ him._

* * *

**I was going to update this tomorrow, but then I literally couldn't stop writing, so I guess there's no time like present. **

**Finally, movement! I hope you liked that - and the way it turned out. It was a tough one to write, but the second half really made me smile.**

**Thank you so, so much for your reviews - I just love reading what you think and I love that you care about these characters!**


	21. Creatures of the past

Cyrus Beene was an ambitious man. Ambitious to the point of ruthlessness. He was sharp; he was brilliant. He was a man of words – he could use them to heal and to wound, to weave a threat within a compliment; to end and to resurrect. His morals were flexible at best; and the only principle he believed in was practicality for the sake of victory, whatever that may be. He was an ambitious man. He was a brilliant man. But, now, lying on their couch, he is a shell of himself. Now, Cyrus Beene is a broken man.

"What's the time?" He asks groggily as he attempts to sit up, but the pulsing thunder in his head is too much.

"Oh, you're up. Good!" Fitz says almost cheerfully; his voice sounding unnatural and high-pitched. "It's two." And it's an octave lower now – more like him, and less like a cartoon.

"Two in the afternoon?"

"Well, yes," He points to the window, somewhat bemused, "daylight, outside?" A questioning smirk.

A second attempt at getting up. "_Maybe_", he thinks, "_possibly_", he closes his eyes for a moment, "_just_ _breathe_ _in_; _on_ _three_" and his legs finally touch the ground – it's shaky and unfriendly, foreign. "I should get going." He is no longer having an inside monologue, no this he chooses to share this with the other man in the room.

"Cy, you should stay. We want you to stay."

"Stay where?"

"Here? We want you to stay here. For a little while, until, you know…"

"Until what?" He sounds annoyed. Fitz takes a breath. He should have handled this better, he could have. He knows Cy, he knows he's too proud to accept a handout, and too stubborn to realize that that's not what this is.

"Until you're back on your feet. Just for a bit."

"You have a newborn baby and you want me?" He says it with a chuckle, almost mocking. His blue eyes suddenly cold, withdrawn. "An old drunk and a baby in the same house? I guess it's true – you really have lost your mind." He always did know how to twist the knife.

"Well, I am recovering. Slowly." The last word aimed at himself, not at their guest. "So I could really use the company." Change in the approach, he tries to make it about him, his own brokenness.

"I don't need your help." But Cy, Cy doesn't hear. His pain doesn't let him understand that this, this isn't pity, it's not charity, not a basket-case miracle story to tell at the office Christmas party. He doesn't understand that this really isn't just for him, or just about him – it's also about Fitz; he also needs this. He doesn't understand; his pain just won't let him see past his own suffering.

And the tension is broken by a cry from the pastel-colored device. A soft cry that makes him smile. "I better get her." And with that he disappears into the land in which cries are not pain released under the pressure of madness; where cries are not desperation, tears rolling down the cheeks are not the pieces of soul jumping off the cliff. He disappears into the land in which a cry is just a cry for a little human contact, a cry for a touch, for a sound of beating heart; for love that lights up the grey-blue eyes. He can make her stop; take away her cries, but when he comes out Cy is gone. A cry unheard for too long; a cry echoing in his mind, but the voice of the broken man is long gone.

/

"I feel like I should look for him." He says looking at the potato wedges on his plate and the way the vinegar from the salad is threatening to invade their space.

"Fitz-"

"I know what you'll say." She raises her eyebrows, not offended, but rather amused.

"Really?" It's a challenge, and Zo looks up as well, leaning back in her chair.

"That he's a grown man; that he's not my responsibility and that I should let him be." He says it all in one breath, very pleased with himself.

"Actually," and his smile drops as her lips curl upwards, and Zo's face disappears behind a grin, "I was going to say – I agree. You should look for him. He's not your responsibility, but he's a friend and you love him. And you need this. You need to do this."

"Zo, close your eyes."

"Seriously, guys?" She sounds annoyed, but she says it with a smile that gets even wider as she closes her eyes. He gets up and marches over to his wife, bending down, while his finger lifts her chin up.

"I knew that. I was trying to reverse-psyche you."

"Mhmmmm." And she doesn't wait for him; no she reaches for his neck and pulls him down, their lips meeting, a soft brush of tongues and a moment to linger; a moment of bare touch. Eyes locked they pull apart, "Zo, you can look now."

"You know I've seen you kiss before."

"We know, but you know the rule-"

"Limited PDA." She says in her mock robotic voice, almost perfected – she could be a TV anchor.

"If you end up on one of those MTV reality shows, we don't want to be dragged into it, accused of scarring your psyche."

"You do know I've skipped three grades, and I'm fairly intelligent for my age. I'm a bit too old to believe Nur was brought by a stork, so you know, I know what-"

"Wait, are we having the talk?" He asks, standing up, his face a translucent white.

Both girls chuckle, sharing a look. "Well, clearly you're not. Go look for Cyrus and I'll tell Zo all about condoms." She puts the emphasis on the last word and again they chuckle as he tries to swallow the lump in his throat.

/

"Cy." He's sitting at the bar. Or more accurately, sitting on a stool, while his upper body is sprawled on the bar, his head surrounded by nut peels and empty glasses.

"And my white knight is here." It's humorless, both his voice and his face; completely humorless.

"Come home with me." The man doesn't move. "Cy, James wouldn-"

"Do. Not. Say. His. Name. Don't you dare say his name. Not in front of the alcohol. The bastard left me all alone." His voice cracks at the very end. It breaks, breaks at the recognition, the utterance of his loneliness. The loneliness, not just a consequence of the loss of husband; no, it's more than that. It's loneliness because no one understands, not intimately anyway, the reality of living on, in the aftermath of death. He's the lone survivor of his loss. "I don't want you here." He sounds exasperated. No, he sounds tired and exhausted.

"That's not true though, is it?" For the first time since last night his voice finally sounds like his own – it's not guarded, or controlled; it's caring, but firm; open, not reserved. He sees the old man's ears perk up and goes on, "You went to the same bar I found you in, two times. That doesn't sound like someone who doesn't want to be found." He finally looks up, but loses his balance when he tries to move his body.

"Come here." He wraps the man's arm around his shoulder, and puts his arms securely around him, guiding him out.

"I don't need you to save me."

"James saved me." And there's a flash of surprise in his eyes, but then sadness and hurt creep back in, overpowering him. He'll tell him. One day he'll tell him. One day, when he's ready.

He stays with them. He stays on the couch. The very same place where he got the call, the call that told him his husband was coming back home – back in a coffin, a closed casket; he left to save lives and lost their future to death. The same couch. The same place. He was here. That day, he was here. Liv went to the hospital and he stayed, stayed to make phone calls; stayed to find out, to track Fitz down – he stayed so he could bring him back. His phone rang and he answered – hope, that, that was that tone in his voice – hope; shattered, gone after, "It's about James" and an awkward pause. Hope, gone; pain instead; all this pain. He doesn't remember much about that day, not much aside from the pain and the couch – the way it felt when he fell; when he stumbled into abyss of his husband's death; the way it welcomed him into hopelessness, engulfed him into brokenness.

He stays with them and he drinks himself into a different kind of abyss and they let him; try to help him. Fitz always finds him, he always brings him back. They clean him up; Liv buys him papers and she talks to him about work, about politics and the world – she talks and he listens, although he feigns disinterest. He pushes them away, but they just keep pushing back – slowly peeling away the shells.

/

He hears water running in the kitchen and soft steps break up the silence of the night.

"Liv?" He calls out. He can't sleep. It's starting to get to him – their caring.

"No, it's me."

"Oh, sorry Zoey." She sounds startled and he didn't mean to freak her out; he actually likes her, as much as he can like a child – with all that hope and all those dreams pooled in her eyes, within the reach of their fingertips.

"That's OK." She pauses. "Can I get you something?"

"Oh, no, that's OK. I just couldn't sleep. I don't need anything."

She's quiet for a moment and then she starts moving; but not in the direction of her room; no, instead she slides into the armchair and looks up at him – barely an outline in the dark. "I'm sorry your husband died."

He doesn't know what to say – he knows thanks is appropriate, but it seems silly to thank someone for recognizing the awfulness of death. Silly and pointless, he thinks to himself. "Thanks."

"It's OK." She pauses again, and then, "I guess. I mean I don't really understand why people say thanks."

"It's polite. Because the other person recognized that they're hurting, so they reciprocate. Politeness." But he smiles. She's his kind of child – brilliant.

"But the other people don't really know, do they? I mean they can guess, but unless they felt it, experienced it; they're not going to know what they're feeling sorry for." She doesn't say it in a petulant or a childish voice. It's soft and confident, instead; thoughtful and reflective – she says it for herself as much as she says it to him.

"Why did you say it then?" It's genuine interest, not an accusation; softness, not unpleasantness.

"My parents are dead."

"You miss them?"

"I don't really remember them."

"That doesn't mean you can't miss them. You can miss a future, a possibility, even if you don't remember it, even if you haven't lived through it; especially if you haven't lived it." And his voice trails off as he thinks of the conversation they had the night before James left – the conversation when he finally agreed to give him what he wanted most, to give him a baby. Then a possibility, now a distant memory. She breaks him out, shattering the if-only and bringing him back to reality.

"I miss them sometimes. I wonder what they'd think of me, you know if they'd like me. My mom was a dancer." She smiles quietly; it's faint, a bare curving of her lips – it's more like a twist, a flash of pain dancing, and then it disappears again, letting youthfulness back on her face. "And I, I feel like a part of me died with them too." She inhales deeply, trying to steady her heartbeat. She doesn't know why she's telling him; telling him things she could only think. "I know it's silly. But I feel like I'll never be that person, the person I'd be if they had survived. I mean, I love Liv, I love my family – they _are_ my family; but it's a different me; it's this me; not my parents' me, not the one I would have been."

And the thing is – he understands – he understands perfectly. It's not just a person that one loses; it's a life. Death – it doesn't take someone else, it takes us as well. We mourn death – the death of them, but also the death of the life we'll never have. And that, that other mourning is far worse, for in that – we are alone – that is loneliness. And here he is, in the middle of the night, surrounded by darkness, finding a light in the twelve year-old's eyes.

"I look at Nur sometimes, and how she's learning how to smile. And she smiles when she sees her favorite stuffed duck. And there's this song that makes her lift her arms up and actually move them to the rhythm. It's all these little things that make her who she is. And I, I don't know any of that about me. I don't know what made me smile for the first time, or my favorite song when I was one, or my first words. It's OK, but…" and her voice gets quiet, barely audible, sailing along with silence, "what if I can never really know who I am, if I don't know who I was before?" And she speaks her greatest fear; the one that makes her chest freeze and her breath hitch. And he, he understands.

"We wanted to adopt a baby. And you know, that, that is who I was going to be. I was going to be a 'daddy'. And now, now I don't know who to be – I don't know how to be me without him. I don't know how to find myself separately from that, how to define myself without going back to that."

"Maybe we can't." And he moves his eyes from the ceiling, to take a look at the girl's face. It's relaxed, soft – no trace of pain, just quiet recognition. "Maybe it's not about ignoring the past, maybe it's about embracing it for what it is – a fond memory that's no longer a possibility." She chuckles softly, "Or in my case a dream, not even a memory." And in that moment he realizes – horrible things happen every day. And sometimes, sometimes they make people better, and other times, well – other times they lose themselves; but if they're lucky enough they get offered a second chance. A chance at a different life, but possibly an equally wonderful one.

"You should go to sleep." He tells her softly. She stands up and turns to leave, but then looks back at him.

"You could make a good dad. Once you, you know, clean up."

"I don't know if it's what I want anymore." And that, that is what terrifies him – the not knowing. She nods and makes her way to her door, but then, "Zo?" And she turns around – it's the first time he's used the shorthand. "You already know who you are – you don't need to know the little details of your past to find yourself – you found yourself – and you're a generous and bright young woman. There's a light within you that's a product of both past and present, but has little to do with parents or circumstance – it's who you are Zoey – you're a light. And you, everything, will keep changing, but that – that will stay the same."

"Thanks Cy."

There's a tear clinging to his eyelash, but it's not a sign of a desperate cry, maddening or a painful one – no it's a sign of healing because of just a little human contact. It's a tear for Zoey Pope-Grant who saved his life that night. The next morning when he wakes up he flushes the pills that were under his pillow; he showers and splashes cold water on his face – it's a new day. He steps into the kitchen and is met by a pair of brown eyes that see past the ambition and ruthlessness, past brilliance and the word-games; in them an unmistakable light, a light that breaks through his shells; that sees the man that he could be; a man that he _can_ be.

* * *

**Sorry it took me forever to update, but I was moving. And wrote this after 48 hours of not sleeping, so you know - keep that in mind :) And I know this wasn't Olitz-centered, but I really wanted to give Cy and Zo a moment. I hope you didn't mind that, but I thought it would be pretty cool if she was the one who could understand him best.**

**The next chapter will be Olitz fluff tho (I know you're thinking - it's about time). **

**Two more things - I don't start work for another week, so if you guys want to PM me with an idea for a one-shot; either a song you like as inspiration, or like a place, or an event or something (or you can Tumblr it to me as well). But yeah, I'm taking requests, because I have some spare time and my mind has been a bit slow with this story, and keeps running to one-shots. And secondly (and slightly off topic) to everyone who still reviews I Love You Too - it seriously makes me so happy! That was my fanfic and people still liking and reading it is so amazing. So thanks for reviewing all my stories, honestly you guys are so amazing and inspiring.**

**Wow, that was a long note. I feel like it should be read in one breath, like Cy's speeches, to make a better impact XD**


	22. An Adjustment

He feels her lips against his; her body on top of his. She's trying to sneak her tongue in, her hands traveling down his body. He's enjoying this dream. The way he can feel the warm air on his neck as she whispers his name, the way his skin is electrified under her hands – every little sensation, every touch, every gasp – it seems so real.

"Fitz." A whisper so soft, so warm. She kisses the corner of his lips; her hand sneaking under the waistband of his boxers. "Fitz."

"Livvy?" He responds sleepily, still unsure of whether this is real. "We shouldn't be doing this." He says groggily.

"I moved up my doctor's appointment to yesterday. We're all clear." He smiles; eyes still closed; eyelids slowly letting in the morning light. He moves his hands up, lazily brushing against her thigh; and then swiftly wraps his arms around her and flips them over. They giggle – loudly, uncontrollably, sleepily trying to entangle themselves from the sheets.

"God, I missed this." She says breathlessly between kisses. His hands long lost under her shirt. She arches her back as he softly twists her nipple. Her hands are grabbing onto him, hungrily, her nails digging into his back. And then… then the baby monitor sounds, the soft cries filling up the room; completely and utterly killing the mood.

They let out deep, frustrated sighs in unison, as he rolls off of her.

"Why now?" She groans, annoyed. He sits up and runs his hands through the hair she still hadn't managed to turn into a mess.

"Liv, can you get her?" He turns around from where he's standing and looks at her with a childish grin. "I need to jump into a cold shower. Now." She gets up and puts her-his T-shirt back on and walks towards the door, her hand brushing against his crotch as she passes him.

"Sure, honey."

They barely see each other for the rest of the morning. By the time she's done with Nur, he's already in the kitchen and she rushes into the shower. As the three of them are eating breakfast, Zo and Cy animatedly chatting away, she's already leaving. She kisses the top of Zo's head and lays a quick kiss on Fitz's temple.

"Zo, come by after school and we'll grab a smoothie, or a protein shake or something near my work?"

"Do I have to?" She asks in a whiney voice. Her attitude dangerously resembling a teenager's.

"No, you don't. But I'd like you to. I feel like I haven't seen you properly in weeks." She's been working like crazy. Staying until late into the night, way past Zoey's bedtime. And mornings, mornings she's always in a rush, trying to sort Nur out. She's been absent so much, she can't remember the last full conversation they had. She hates it, and she feels incredibly guilty. Zo can tell, by the way Liv's eyes glaze across her face, before they fix onto an imaginary point in the distance. And in that moment she wants to make her feel worse, she wants to make her feel as abandoned as she's felt.

"Well whose fault is that?" And Liv's eyes shoot up. She knew she felt that way, but she didn't think it's something she'd actually say. Not right now, not when she has to rush out – once again – not now, when she doesn't have the time to explain.

"Zoey!" Fitz shoots her a look, but it only makes Liv feel worse; he means well, but he shouldn't; no he shouldn't attack her – she's right, and Liv knows it; it's eating her alive.

She takes a deep breath, and on comes the parenting hat. "Well, if you want to talk about that, come by today. We'll have a snack, or lunch, or just grab something to drink." She walks over to her again, and lays a soft kiss on her cheek. "I love you Zoey."

As soon as she's safely behind the elevator door she can't breathe – her breaths stuck in her throat; she's suffocating in her clothes. She can't cry, not now, she doesn't have the time to fall apart. She lifts her head up and tries to focus on the harsh neon lights; but all she sees is a pair of hurt eyes; disappointment written across the young face. The doors open again with a soft **ding** and she steps out into the cool New York street.

As soon as the door closes Zoey gets up, trying desperately not to cry. "I'm done. I'll go get ready for school." She goes to her room and sits down, her back against the cool wall. She lifts her head up and tries to focus on the light coming from the window, but all she sees is a pair of hurt eyes; pain written across her mom's face. The door opens after a soft knock and she shifts her gaze to meet a his concerned face. "I know. I'm sorry." She says as she lowers her head between her legs. He walks over to her, kneeling down, so they're face-to-face.

"She's doing the best she can Zoey. It's an adjustment. With the baby, going back to work full-time now; then there's also Cy." That makes her look up.

"What about Cy? I mean he can stay, right? I'll be nice. I promise I'll be nice. I'll go to lunch and I'll apologize." She sounds panicked and it throws him off slightly.

"Cy can stay as long as he wants Zo. I just meant; it's a lot… a lot of change. And your mom is doing the best she can."

"I know." It's so quiet, almost resigned. "I'll apologize."

He gives her a hand and pulls her up. "You should mean it. I know you miss her and I know it hurts, but she's trying and it'll get better."

She studies his face for a moment, then finally says, "You miss her too, don't you."

"Yeah, kiddo, I do." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Get ready. You can leave with Cy."

The house is finally empty and he sits down and grabs his phone. He stares at it for a moment, his finger lingering over the glossy screen, and then he dials the number he knows by heart.

"Olivia Pope's office."

"Hey Quinn, Liv there?"

"Oh, hey. Yes. Just give me a minute to transfer you."

A couple of soft beeps later, "Hey, everything OK?" She picks up; no Hello, or a Hi, her voice rushed.

"Yeah, I just… You're easier to reach on this number."

"Fitz…"

"I know. I get it. You're busy. It's been busy."

"It's been crazy. But it will get better."

"So you keep saying." There's a hurt in his voice. Hurt that he wishes he could hide, because he loves her, loves her enough to want to protect her from the guilt he knows she's feeling. Hurt that she hates, almost as much as she resents herself for causing it to be there in the first place.

"We knew it would be tough. I didn't work for two months and then I did part-time; it's a lot of time wasted Fitz. Work, just… it piled up. But, I'll get to the bottom of it. And the deadlines are almost all done."

"I know… I just miss you. And so does she Liv. She's just hurting."

"Is she coming?" She asks quietly, so quietly that he almost doesn't hear it. As if saying it louder could change the answer.

"She is." He can hear her smiling against the phone. The moment is interrupted by someone calling her in the distance. "You have to go." She sighs, lowering her forehead into her palm.

"I do. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. We agreed to do this. We agreed. We are doing this. We'll get through it. It will get better, because you will get to the bottom of it."

"You promise?" Her voice almost breaks. It takes he all she has to keep it even, keep it strong; keep the mask on.

"I promise." She's quiet. "Liv?"

"Nur smiled. She smiles. I missed her first smile. I'm missing so much."

"We'll have the rest of our lives to watch her smile. Now, go, be a gladiator. Emotions aside, fight a good fight."

"I love you."

"You too." And he hangs up, before she can change her mind, before she can change his mind; because another sigh, another moment of doubt and he would have told her to quit, to come home; to stay at home with him – forever, just them. Just occasionally leaving their bed.

* * *

A tentative knock on the heavy door breaks her out of her thoughts.

She looks up and is met by a pair of warm-brown eyes. "I'm sorry mom."

"I know. So am I.' She gets up and grabs her bag. Her hand hovers over her phone, but then she leaves it there. This, this is going to be just them. "Let's go."

They sit down and order their drinks and an awkward silence settles in. A silence that wasn't there before, a silence akin to foreignness.

"So, how's ballet been? Fitz said you got Clara for the Christmas recital." And the girl's face instantly lights up.

"Yeah. It's finally me!" She exclaims excitedly. "I've been practicing like crazy. My right foot is completely blistered! Want to see?" And she's already taking her shoe off, and showing off her wounds proudly. Liv smiles sadly – she broke through this time, she fixed this hurt; but what if, one time, one day – she can't. What if one time she's no longer able to connect this way.

They catch up; they talk about school, a new boy she likes; about how she's trying to get Nur to sit up; they talk about Cy.

"Please don't make him move out. I like talking to him mom."

"What do you talk about?"

"Oh, just stuff. You know… He travelled a lot. And he knows a lot about history and politics. I think he likes talking to me. Makes him less sad. Helps him think of James less." And Liv freezes for a moment.

"Does he ever talk about James?"

"Sometimes. Not a lot. He just misses him. So we talked about that a bit. Because I can understand."

"What do you mea-" And she doesn't finish it. She realizes what she means and then looks into her daughters eyes, panicking. "We never talk about it. Your parents. You know, we could, Zoey. We can."

"I know. But, you've been busy and… it's a bit strange." She says honestly, playing with her hands; her fingers twisting nervously.

"I'm never too busy for that." That's a lie; the way she's been running around there was no way Zo could have brought it up. And there's the familiar guilt, poking it's ugly head again. She has to push it back, far into the back, and focus on something else. Ignore the regret and focus on making it better. Time. She'll make time. "And it doesn't have to be strange. You can talk to me about them."

"OK."

"You can talk to Fitz too."

"OK."

"You'll just keep OK-ing aren't you?"

"Yes." She says with her signature, charming, devilish smirk. "I'll talk to you guys when I need to. But I'm OK for now, I like talking to Cy." And Liv smiles. Maybe parenting, right now, comes down to letting her do this her way, letting her heal with this man.

She comes home around midnight and stumbles into the bedroom through the dark. She stops in the doorway, smiling at the scene before her. Fitz is lying on the bed, Nur sprawled out on his chest. Zoey is lying on his other side, firmly in his embrace; two iPads on the bed, behind her back. They fell asleep reading. It's a perfect scene; serene. She doesn't want to wake them, so she tries to slowly lift Nur from his chest and drop her off in the nursery, quietly. But he instantly feels the baby's absence and stirs awake.

"Hey, it's just me." She says before kissing him. "I'll just drop her in her crib."

"I'll take Zoey."

'That's OK."

He leans his head into her hand sleepily, before he speaks. "I don't mind. And that way you don't have to wake her up." He gets up. It's him that kisses her this time. She moans softly and he smiles against her lips, his hand gliding down her body. He steps away and she lets out the most adorable whine-like sound. "Let's go drop the kids off." He says, before kissing her quickly again. Then he lifts Zo up in his arms, as if she were feather-light and carries her out. She just watches him, thinking how lucky she is; how happy she is in that moment, just watching him; watching them. They meet back in bed; she crawls in next to him – he's already half asleep. She puts her head on his chest and he just pulls her in, closer – her body molding to his. They fall asleep, almost in sync.

* * *

He sneaks in behind her, pulling her in by the waist. "She's all fed and changed." He starts kissing her neck, moving up to slowly nibbling on her ear. She turns around and starts kissing him – desperate, rushed, open-mouthed; kisses to get lost in. He lifts her up on the counter, his hand making their way up her thigh as hers fall back and squeeze his ass.

"Morning guys." And they're instantly a foot apart, as he stumbles back and she jumps off the counter; her hand covering her lips awkwardly, as his tries to pulls down the shirt he sleeps in, down over his boxers. They look at each other, and immediately, they burst out laughing – the irony of the situation not lost on them – being caught making out like teenagers by someone who could easily be their father.

"Morning Cy." Fitz manages to get out in between laughs. He grabs Liv's hand and leads her away, towards their room. "Just, keep an ear out for Nur."

He mutters, "Acting like damn children," under his breath. But they don't hear, no they're already lost in a rush of kisses broken up by pulling apart to rip their clothes off and tenderly eye each other. She blushes slightly – he hasn't seen her this naked lately, not since the baby.

"God, you're so beautiful Livvy." He says it so breathlessly, so completely in awe of her that she believes it; she believes him and it makes her feel amazing;_ he_ makes her feel amazing. They walk into the shower, the water drowning out all the sounds; the steam locking them up in their little bubble. Until, until there's a knock on the door.

"Sorry. But, Cy is in my bathroom and I really need to shower before school." His hand stops moving and she thrusts her hips in protest, but he just kisses her softly and then moves away. He yells, "Five minutes Zo." as he steps out of the shower and wraps her up in an oversized towel. She speaks into his chest, "We need to get rid of all of them for a couple of days." She starts punching his muscles, with her small fists, frustrated. "We. Cannot. Keep. Being. Interrupted."

* * *

She's sitting in her office as the clock strikes 10, another night away from her kids, from him.

"Quinn, I'm done with this, you can revise it. And I can make that conference call to Hong Kong now."

"That's tomorrow." A deep baritone, and he comes thought the door.

"What are you doing here?" She gets up behind her desk and crosses over to where he stands.

"I missed you. And I got rid of Cy. And the kids. For one evening. And I had Quinn reschedule your trans-continental, weird-time-zone conferences, so you're free. And you're coming home with me." She puts her hands on his chest and steps on her toes and lays a soft kiss on his lips.

"I can't just leave. Hong Kong-"

"Will still be there tomorrow. And so will the reports. You need a night off. And we need a night, of 'us time'."

She thinks about it for a moment, biting her lip. But really she's not thinking, and the only reason she's biting her lip is because she knows what it does to him. "OK. Let's go home." And she puts her hand in his, their fingers intertwining.

"What did you do with the kids?"

"Donated them to disaster relief. Cy sorted it."

"Fitz, seriously!"

"Seriously. They'll make someone in Congo very happy." She elbows him playfully. "Fine. I didn't donate them. Yet." He looks down at her with a grin. "Cy went to visit James' parents and he wanted to take Zo, and she wanted to go. And Nur is with your mom. I bathed her before I dropped her off, so she only had to feed her and change her and nothing more."

'That's a shame." He quirks his eyebrows at her, in confusion. "Disaster relief actually sounded pretty amazing. Would have given us at least a week, until we could get them back safely."

"Maybe we should go on a holiday instead. A weekend away. It's cheaper overall… and well – legal."

"Mhmmmm." She's done talking as he unlocks the door and her lips crash on his. A trail of clothes scattered on the floor leading to the bedroom. They don't sleep that night, dozing off around dawn, only to be woken up by the alarm clock a couple of hours later – worn out, but happy; complete.

She smiles up at him, as his finger lifts up her chin; her naked body on top of his, "Hi."

And he trails her spine with his finger, absentmindedly smiling, blissfully happy – "Hi."

It's a perfect moment in time. A moment away from everyday; away from the hassle and rushing and endless "can't-s". A moment just for them, just with them. A perfect moment.

"Thank you."

"Oh, no, thank _you_." He says with a smirk, trying to hold back laughter.

"Not for _that_!" She exclaims, faux-annoyed. "For this. For arranging all of it, for thinking of it."

"It was Zoey actually. She was the one that suggested it. I mean, not the sex, clearly; but the – retreat. She suggested it."

"She doesn't hate me." She says, averting her gaze from his.

"Liv." He reaches for her cheek, "Look at me." He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "That girl adores you. She was upset. It's how teenagers get. This, this is an adjustment. All of it. We'll get through it."

"OK." She runs her fingers through his hair. "But can we just stay like this, here, for another five minutes, before we have to get through anything?"

"Half an hour." He kisses her.

"Ten minutes." She kisses him back.

"Twenty five." He moves down to her neck.

"Fifteen." She starts moving down his body.

"Twenty." He pulls her up, kissing her deeply.

"Deal."

* * *

**It's been a while, sorry! I hope you liked the fluff. It was actually fairly therapeutic for me, after all the angst one-shots and the heaviness that have been the past few chapters of this. Thanks for your continued support, I appreciate it so much and I love reading all of your reviews; honestly they're so inspiring :)**


	23. Write our happy ending

**OMG so Kerry got married! And I still get childishly excited that that statement rhymes lol But yeah, I needed to write some fluff to process all of that after last night, so here it goes. Also, HAPPY 4th OF JULY!**

* * *

They're lying on their sides, facing each other, their hands intertwined on the tiny chest. They watch it rise; their faces swallowed up by unconscious smiles.

"She's perfect." She says with a proud grin.

"She is." He strokes the back of her hand with his palm, softly; feather-like touches. "We did good." The baby stirs and then hickups making them both laugh.

"Shhhhh! You'll wake her!" She tries to sound stern, but there's nothing but warmth in her voice.

"You laughed too!" And she giggles, tossing her head forward and then back; the morning light hitting her face, illuminating the high cheekbones and the dark, almond-shaped eyes. She's so _beautiful_, he thinks to himself; his hand instinctively reaching to touch her face; to tuck a strand of her hair away, to cup her cheek – warm skin on warm skin. Both of them glowing, both of them happy.

He leans over and kisses her, it's light, the creases of their lips barely meeting, the imperfections in the skin complementing.

"What was that for?" She asks through a smile; her eyes still closed.

"Nothing. Just for being you. I love you."

She runs her hand down his chest, then back up again, resting it just above his heart, "I love you too." There's a noise in the kitchen, sounds of dishes clinking. "We should get up."

"You go get ready for work, and I'll go make some food."

"Have I mentioned how much I love you?" She says as she pulls her shirt over her head and drops it on the bed.

He swallows hard, before getting up. "Well, I hate you for doing this to me right now. When you know we don't have time." He whispers the last part as he pulls her into his arms and kisses her neck. She wiggles out of his embrace and runs in to the shower, dropping her underwear to the floor ceremoniously. "Tonight."

* * *

"Honey, I'm home." She yells excitedly as soon as she's through the door. He's sitting at the kitchen counter, music blasting loudly. She just stands in the doorway for a moment watching him, smiling. He notices and turns the volume up even more walking over to her, dancing awkwardly. She laughs, but he can't hear – he can just see – her face radiating happiness, radiating lightheartedness. He pulls her in and then twirls her around, before pulling her close – his hands resting low on her back, hers loosely around his waist; her head resting on his chest; their feet moving to the rhythm, slowly, barely. The song ends and there's a moment of quiet when they just stand like that – frozen in a perfect moment. And then another song blasts through the room, the beats too fast for them to meet. He lowers the volume, never letting go of her hand, their fingers interlaced.

"You're writing again." He hadn't been since he's come back. His laptop was tucked away – out of sight, out of mind, except it's never as simple as that. It was always there, in the corners of their consciousness, in the dark hallways of their brain, the ones they tried to stay away from. It was always there, a constant reminder of all they could have lost, easily, oh, so easily; everything they came so terrifyingly close to losing. Now, it was finally out in the open, the final step towards him – healing; towards them – healing.

"I spoke to the publishers. They're still interested. They've agreed to give me a few extra days to go over the book again. I spent the whole morning just looking at it, never venturing past the first page; not daring to go back there again. But then I just scrolled down and I started reading it, and suddenly, without realizing I was three chapters in, no longer in pain, no longer scared – I was just reading. I really think I want to publish it."

"You do?" She asks, and her voice cracks; just a little bit, but enough for him to hear.

"I do. It's important to tell these stories. Not doing that makes everything pointless. Me going there, James being there; all the lives lost, including his – would have been for nothing. This way, this, could be something."

"It's already everything." She says walking up to him and propping herself up on her toes, to lay a soft kiss on his lips. "When's the deadline?"

"Friday."

"Anything you want to change until then?"

"I'm not sure. I guess I'll just know." He chuckles quietly, to himself mostly. "Or that's what I'm hoping."

He spends the next few days reading, poring over every word, every phrase; getting more and more frustrated with every passing day. She walks in as a stack of papers comes flying, followed by a sound of a fist meeting the wooden countertop, and a "Damn it!"

"Hi." She says with furrowed eyebrows.

"Sorry, I'll pick that up." But her hand stops him from bending down, pushing his shoulder back up.

"Leave it for now, it's fine. Instead, please, do explain, what was _that_ about."

"I just got frustrated."

She tries desperately not to smile. "Well, yes, clearly. What about?"

"Writing."

She sighs, this time a smile dances quickly across her lips. "Fitz, honey, I'll need you to start answering using sentences with some meaning."

"I can't figure it out Liv. There's something missing. But I can't figure it out."

"Maybe," she pauses, unsure if it's the right thing to say, but then she pushes her doubts away, "maybe, you could ask Cy to read it? He was your editor after all. This stuff, it's what he knows."

He doesn't react. Not straight away. He just ponders it for a moment, which she knows is progress. Two months ago, it would have been a straight-out no. "What if it just hurts him even more?"

"He's a big boy. He's read it already, and he knows if he can handle it. Just ask him."

Cy takes the stack of papers to bed with him, without saying anything aside from, "I can't edit shit on that thing.", as a reply to Fitz's offer to use his iPad instead. He walks into the kitchen the next morning, still wearing the same clothes and drops the stack of papers ceremoniously on the countertop. "It's not finished. Ending. That's what it's lacking."

"What do you mean?" Ftiz asks, looking up from the pan he's scrubbing. "You said it was fine the first time."

"Well yes, so did you, yet you changed your mind." Fitz makes a grimace, but doesn't say anything, no, he lets him speak. "It was fine. It is fine. But it's not great. It doesn't have that moment-of-silence-in-a-crowded-place, that makes you pause and think, not just about what you're reading, but about everything; about your life, yourself; it doesn't have that magical moment."

"Does anything Cy?"

"Of course it does. The last line in 1984, that, that is pure brilliance. The moment you find out that Holden wants to be the Catcher in the Rye. The moment he stabs the painting in Dorian Gray. Now, those are the moments."

"But that's fiction."

"That doesn't matter." He says with an exasperated sigh. "It's not the genre, those are just examples. I mean, Chasing the Flame, there's a moment at the very beginning that takes your breath away. It's so much more poignant because it's real. It's not the genre, it's the story; it's the way you write it. Only the greats can do it –give us a moment to reflect."

"You think I'm great?" His voice is quiet, his eyes focused on the pan in his hands.

"Well, not right now, but you could be; you have it in you. The way you're bringing up your kids, the way you are with Zoey; the way you told me about James – it's all stuff of the greats. This, this isn't there yet. But it could be, it just needs an ending. It needs one more story, a story to explain why it was all worth it. Because the first time, the first time we read it we weren't questioning that; we weren't questioning that doing this, writing this is worth it, but now, now we question it; we wonder if it was worth it, indeed. And that's what this book needs to say – not just the issues, the policy considerations, the problems and the sad stories; no it needs to say why we should care, although it's half a world away, although caring could be at a risk to ourselves."

"I have one more day. The deadline is tomorrow."

"Well in that case, I suggest you start writing." He walks over to him and takes the pan away from his hands, and trying to help him get a pair of oversized yellow latex gloves off his hands, which are now excitedly shaking. "I'll take Nur out for a while and we'll pick up Zo from her ballet class. You, you stay and write."

"Thanks Cy." He stands there awkwardly, towering over the old man, smiling. He wants to hug him, but he can only imagine the word-vomit that would come out of Cy's mouth if he gave it try, so he just pats his shoulder clumsily. He spends the rest of the day writing, never-tiring; the creative-high fueling him. He knows she came home, and he faintly remembers her kissing him, but then she disappeared with Cy, taking the girls out. And he remembers them coming back and heading to bed, but it's all a blur, moments of life tied to freshly-typed words.

"You're still up." The sound of her voice, quiet and hushed makes him break out of his bubble and look up.

"Yeah. I'll just be a little bit." She nods her head and disappears. He thinks she went to bed, but then she comes back with a cup of coffee. She puts it on the table, and wordlessly kisses his temple. He takes her palm in his hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it softly. "Thank you." She kisses the top of his head, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, massaging softly.

"You're welcome." And with that she's gone again; returning shortly with peanut-butter sandwiches – his favorite. She doesn't go to bed, she lies on the couch, so that she can see him at the kitchen counter, and she just reads. She doesn't say anything, or do anything else; no she just lets him be – staying close by in case he needs her, but giving him a space to breathe, to think.

As the dawn comes in the form of light pink sky, he exhales, leaning back slightly, running his hands through his hair, "I finished it." She looks up and smiles. "You want to read it, before I send it in?"

"I'd love to." She blurts it out and then takes a breath, "if you want me to. It's fine if you don't." She tries to play it cool, to keep her enthusiasm in check, but a huge grin gives it away.

"I want you to. I need you to."

"OK. C'mere." He crosses the room to where she's sitting and collapses onto the couch, handing her his laptop. He snuggles up to her, his head in the crook of her neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her. She starts reading, words and sentences rolling off of her tongue and into her mind; the room perfectly quiet, but their even breathing.

_Why should we care? A friend of mine asked me that, and the best thing, the only thing, I could come up with, was – Because if we don't care, what else do we have left? If we forget about the humanity of people elsewhere, if we see their cause and their struggle, but not them –it's a slippery slope to overlooking those the closest to us in the same way. How do we limit our not caring, how do we box it in, without letting it spill? Caring is how we connect; it's how we make sense – of others, of ourselves. You can't see a lone star, not without the other ones, illuminating the night sky. So in those moments of sorrow, moments of regret, when you look up, seeking out the comfort of the past remember that although you have lost those you loved, there are others to love, yet._

Quiet. A moment of quiet to reflect. A moment of quiet to fully appreciate how much she loves this man.

"It's perfect." Her finger caresses his cheek. "It's the stuff of the greats." She leans down to kiss him, but then notices he's sleeping. He's eyes closed peacefully, his mouth slightly open – he's lost in his dreams. She smiles to herself and then nudges him gently. "Fitz, you need to send this."

He just stirs slightly and holds on to her even tighter. "Can-you-do-it-please." He asks with his eyes closed, his lips barely moving as he speaks.

"Sure." And she attaches the document, taking a deep breath. She opens it one more time, just to make sure it's the right one. The cover is still blank, so she scrolls down until the first letters breaking up the whiteness of the screen:

_To my kids – Karen, Gerry, Zoey and Nur – this book is for you, so that one day you'll live in a better world._

_To Liv – you are everything; you are the stars, the constant light guiding me home. You taught me the beauty of reality, magical beyond my wildest dreams._

_To Cy and James – you saved my life, more than once._

_And to all those who are brave enough to care, because that is what truly makes a difference._

She smiles and presses send. This is the right one. She should get up, make breakfast, get ready for work; she should. But she can't bring herself to. No, instead she stays with him, slipping into a beautiful dream; but this time – even their dreams fall short of reality.

* * *

**I hope that cheered you guys up a bit (although hopefully you didn't really need cheering up), but yeah, I just needed a day to write cuteness! And, once again, thank you so much for your reviews and enjoying this story - literally brights up my day. ****_TvIsForever'_****s 20 minute comment cracked me up so much, literally gave me life!**

**Edit: I added Nur in the dedication. I can't believe I missed my own brain-baby out XD**


	24. Feels like Home

**OK, so there's really nothing I could say in my defense. Except, for those of you who don't know, I started the prequel. It's called ****_All In_****, and basically that occupied me for the past week. So check it out, if you're interested. For those of you who read it, I kind of waited with this chapter, because I needed to write the one with Liv's dad first, to explain some of this. I'll probably be updating this less frequently, while I'm writing All In, just because I really want to have a few chapters of this left, to help everyone get over the Fitz-hate. This chapter is a bit longer - basically me trying to compensate for the lack of updates. I really hope you'll like it :)**

* * *

"We need to move." She looks up from her iPad, as he comes out from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that hangs dangerously low.

"Not the moving again. We love this place. We agree we love this place."

"We do. But that has nothing to do with the fact that we've outgrown it and we need to move." He says it over his shoulder, trying to keep his voice calm, as he inspects his underwear drawer.

She just flashes him a mischievous grin. "I'm sorry, but that towel is distracting me." She gets out of bed and crosses the room to where he's standing. She wraps her arms around him and lays her head on his back, propping herself on tip-toes to kiss his shoulder.

"Livvy… We should talk about this."

"We should." She smiles against his skin as her hands travel down his body.

"Livvy…" It comes out more as a moan that lacks all resolve, than anything else.

"We'll talk tomorrow."

* * *

"Damn-it-mother-fu-"

"Well, good morning there." She chuckles at the image of him jumping on one leg, while listing profanities under his breath.

"We need to move." She hands him a cup of coffee as he bends down and kisses her softly.

"Fitz, it's 6 in the morning. How about coffee before we make any life-altering changes?"

"No! No, no, no, no, no, missy! You have been avoiding this conversation for weeks! We are discussing this." He says it with a winning grin, but when she finally stops reading she doesn't look convinced.

"Fitz…" Her voice sounds like it's gearing up for a fight. "This place is fine."

"It's too small. It's been too small for years, but we made it work. But now, with Cy and Nur, it's like all of us are living in an overcrowded cocoon."

"Well, cocoons are cool!" She tries to play it cute, but he is not impressed.

"Cy's stuff is in the nursery. He's on the couch. Karen and Gerry have to bunk with Zoey. Nur's toys are everywhere, and now that she's crawling so is she. I mean we barely fit at the table, let alone anything else. We need a bigger place."

"Well, Nur doesn't mind Cy's stuff. Seeing how she's six months old and really not that hung-up on having her personal space. The kids love it; bunking. It's like a sleepover that never ends. And even if we got a bigger place the toys would still be everywhere and so would she – it's called having a baby." She recites it; calmly; smiling victoriously.

"Liv, I'm serious about this!"

"So am I. We're not moving!"

"Why are you being so stubborn about this?" His voice is raising and he's getting up, pacing.

"Why are you pushing it?" Hers is accusatory; trying to shift the focus; turn the tables.

"No, this is not about me. We need a bigger place. The kids and Cy agree."

"You spoke to them about this?" Now she's standing too, arms crossed in front of her chest; defensive. "You talked to them, before you talked to me?"

"No! Not before, Liv! Between – between suggesting it and having you shoot it down instantly, and trying again; I spoke to them. It concerns them. They should have a say. And they do, they think we should move!"

"Sorry, I just need to…" Cy's voice breaks them out, making them both blush.

"Morning, Cy." They say at the same time, then shoot each other an angry look.

"I need to get ready for work."

"It's six in the morning Liv."

"Yes, well, I have a lot to do." She says it as she walks away, not pausing, or even lifting her head. "And I want to be here when Karen arrives."

* * *

"Karen, we missed you!" She pulls her in to a warm hug, running her hand soothingly over the girl's back.

"I missed you too!" She goes into another hug, before, "Oh my god! She's gotten so big! And she's so pretty!" With that she's leaving Liv and running towards Zo, who's holding the baby, grinning at her parent's faux-offended faces.

"Told you we're who'd she be the most excited to see!" She hands the baby to Karen, expertly. At first Nur just looks at her, barely blinking, and stirring slowly. But then she reaches her little hand out and touches her cheek. Karen melts under the touch, clearly not immune to the infant's charm. She turns around to look at Liv and Fitz – there's something off, but she can't put her finger on it.

"She's amazing."

"Well, she likes you too!" Liv says with a small smile. "That's a move she only uses on people she likes." She looks at the clock, and they can see the wheels in her head turning. "Why don't you guys hang out, while we finish dinner. And then we'll eat and you can tell us your plans."

"If you can find anywhere to hang out." Fitz adds under his breath, and she shoots him a death stare.

The girls exchange a look and then disappear into Zoey's room, leaving the two of them to chop away in silence.

"What was that about?" Karen asks as she hands a wooden block to Nur, running her hand affectionately over the infant's head.

'They're fighting."

"Yeah, I could tell." Karen says with a grin that says I'm-not-blind-that's-why-I'm-asking, and Zo just rolls her eyes.

"Sorry, Miss Harvard-material." She joins them on the floor, and instantly Nur starts making appreciative noises, and claps her hands happily. "Fitz wants to move and mom is set on staying in this place."

"But, it's tiny."

"I know. It makes no sense. She's being really stubborn about it. I mean, it's fine. They'll be fine. He pushes; she gets defensive; they fight – now they just have to make up. It's just the way they are. I mean getting her to change her name, and well mine to Pope-Grant, took convincing – they weren't talking for a week. She didn't sleep for two weeks when he just moved in. He's just all in, all the time – and she needs her space, she needs to process on her own. And they're both so head-strong, neither willing to give in easy."

"Wow."

"What?"

"You have them all figured out!"

She smiles. "Yeah, I guess. They're not as complicated as they like to think." And then she reaches for the block that Nur is chewing on and pulls it out, ignoring the loud whine. "And Nur will need the tips, once I'm off to college."

The dinner is quiet. The awkward you-can-hear-a-pin-drop, type of quiet. The type that makes everyone chew self-consciously, because they feel that's all everyone else can hear. The quiet that makes the utensils clinking against the porcelain sounds like bells chiming; the quiet that freezes the energy in the room.

Liv finally tries to break the ice, but really, it's just chipping the surface of a Titanic-sized ice-berg. "So, Karen, what's the plan?"

She almost chokes on her food, completely startled by the fact that someone spoke up; she imagines it's the same reaction she'd have to someone laughing at a funeral. "Uhmmm." She tries to swallow quickly, before the silence settles in, again. "We drive there. You guys show me around." Her eyes dart nervously between them. "I have a meeting with the Dean, midday. Thanks for that, by the way Liv." Liv smiles and nods her head, and she swears she can see her dad's head flinch involuntarily as he tries to fight off an appreciative smile. "And then, maybe we could grab a lunch or something. Dad always told me about this bar that has the best fries, where he always used to hang out." And she sees the same wistful smile stretching across their lips, but they still refuse to look at each other, their eyes firmly fixed on their hands.

"Well_, that_, certainly sounds like a plan." Fitz says, a hint of sadness in his voice; nostalgia.

"Desert, anyone?" Liv asks as she stands up. They all look at her, panicking. "I'm just kidding. It's late. You guys should go to bed. Early start tomorrow." They literally jump from their seats, yelling "Thanks!" just before disappearing into their bedroom.

He helps her clean up, washing the dishes as she dries them. His hand grazes the top of hers as he hands her a plate. It lingers there. Neither moving for a moment. "I hate fighting." She says quietly, still looking at the pile of dishes in the sink.

"Me too." She finally moves her hand as she starts wiping the plate. They don't speak again. They go to bed, each staying on their side; each wishing the other one would just give in and reach out; all it would take is another touch. But neither does; no, they stay like that, pretending to sleep, but really staring at the ceiling. They drift off eventually; exhaustion overpowering. She wakes up in his arms. They're in the middle of the bed, the little spoon and the bog spoon; their legs intertwined, his head buried in the crook of her neck, their hands tucked away under her chin. She smiles to herself before she gets up.

"Are we still in a fight?" She asks him as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

"Well, are you still being stubborn about this?"

"You're clearly still pushing it." She says, annoyed, dropping her coffee to the table with a loud thump. But before it can escalate; before they can get into it again,

"Good morning guys." They bow their heads in shame, blushing slightly.

"Morning." Again at the same time. Damn. They shoot each other a dirty look; frustrated that they're so in sync that they can't even fight properly.

"When are we leaving?" Zoey asks, trying to hide her smile as she pours herself some cereal.

"An hour." He says as he kisses the top of her head, before heading to the shower.

The car drive is brutal. Well, at least for the first ten minutes or so; until the teenagers give up and put their earphones in, disappearing into the land of loud beats and broken romances. The adults just sit quietly, Fitz gripping the wheel tightly, his lips in a straight line, his jaw clenched; Liv's forehead against the cool glass as she looks out, not noticing the passing scenery. He hates this. The distance; the way she pulls away from him; the way she glances, worried, when she thinks he's not looking. She hates it, too. The way she feels; she hates this fear that's paralyzing her; she hates herself for not being different, for being so-damn-complicated.

They're walking down the path, pointing to the famous buildings; telling intimate stories. Her arm is around Karen's shoulders, and they're a few steps ahead; Zo and Fitz not even trying to keep up, as they compete in who knows more obsolete historical details; Zo, now easily kicking his ass.

"This, this place used to have the best coffee." Karen's eyes follow her hand as she points to a small café.

"Is that where you and my dad met?" She asks, keeping her gaze on the café. Liv breathes in, trying to take a moment. They told Zoey; all the details she ever wanted to know; but this, this is different.

"No." She doesn't want to say more, step over the line; but she also doesn't want to freeze Karen out. She's old enough. "We met in a club." Karen chuckles and she ads, "Classy, I know."

"Did you instantly fall for him?" She can't believe Mellie hasn't told her. She expected her to tell every, dirty, little detail to her kids; that would have been very-Mellie. Maybe she really has changed, she thinks to herself.

"Yes." She says, a smile spreading across her lips as she thinks back to it. "He was… something."

Karen looks at her, smiling; then she looks down and starts twisting her fingers. "I'm sorry Liv."

"About what honey?"

She speaks quietly, Liv can barely hear. "It was me." Liv tightens her grip, pulling the girl closer in; but she lets her speak, she knows she needs to get this off her chest, she understands. "I figured it out years ago. I mean my parents' anniversary is only a few months before I was born. I know you guys broke up; but you loved each other so much, you would have gotten back together if my mom didn't end up pregnant. I'm sorry." Liv stops and turns to face her, lifting her head up gently, until the girl's teary, blue eyes are looking into her golden-brown ones.

"You have nothing to be sorry about. It was complicated, even before everything, it was complicated. And you, you were the best thing that could have come out of that mess; the best thing that could have happened. Your dad loves you so much; you're his weak-spot. He adores you, kiddo. And I love you, as much as I love my own girls. And none of this, none of it was your fault. We messed up, Karen. We were young, and stupid and we messed up. But you, you have nothing to be sorry about." She nods her head weakly, but she doesn't seem convinced. "You know why?" She shakes her head softly. "Because it still worked out. We have you and Gerry, and Zoey and Nur. We got more than we could have dreamed of. It took a bit longer than we thought, but we got so much more!" And for the first time, she means it; for the first time she believes it. She believes that it's OK. The wasted years; the tears; the nights she stayed awake, sitting alone in her bed – it's OK. Now, it's finally OK. It made her into who she is today. Confident and brilliant; a great mom; a loving daughter, a trusted friend… but with him, with him she's still twenty, trying to figure out how to love him, how to let him in completely. With him she still gets lost in her vulnerability. Maybe, it's because he sees, he's always seen past all the layers of pretense, or maybe it's because she can't believe that someone can love her so unconditionally; that someone can love her enough never to want to leave. Maybe it's just because she's terrified of needing him, of losing him.

A soft "Thank you," breaks her out of her thoughts, as he lays a light kiss on her temple. She just looks up and smiles at him, falling into his embrace comfortably.

"There's just one more place we need to see before your meeting." Liv says with a soft smile, and with that they're all walking again, extra spring in their steps.

They stand in front of a big building, lively chatter emanating from it; all eyes following Liv's arm.

"That was definitely my window." She squints a little, as if trying to see inside, trying to make sure she's right.

"Nope. That's not the one." He says with a smirk, as he moves behind her and moves her lifted arm slightly to the right. "It's that one."

"I lived there for two years, don't you think I'd know better?"

"Well I stood under it with a radio, praying to god you'd come out, so no, I don't think you'd know better!" They both chuckle at the girls' shocked faces.

"You did the scene from that movie?" Karen asks, sounding almost impressed.

"OK, firstly – it's not – that – movie. It's _Say anything_. Honestly, Karen you need to know that!" He says, sounding every bit a concerned parent. "And yes, it was really popular at the time, and we had just had a fight, so I was trying to make up."

"Did it work?" Zoey asks grinning.

"I didn't know the movie, or the scene." She says laughing. "I thought it was even more amazing because of that though, like I thought he was so creative. I totally fell for it. And he didn't tell me," she gently nudges him with her elbow, "he pretended it was all him."

"Hey, I just thought why not keep the illusion going." He says with that winning smile, the one that makes her knees go weak; the one that makes her smile back at him involuntarily.

She looks down at her watch, and then steps out of his embrace, after giving him a quick peck. "Time for your meeting, sweetie." And she wraps her arm around Karen, trying to calm her nerves. She can hear Fitz and Zoey giggling behind them; she's pretty sure he's telling her about the time he decided to decorate his face with a magic marker, after a marathon beer-pong session.

* * *

He's lying on the couch reading, as Karen comes out in her pajamas and lies next to him, putting her head in his chest. He runs his hand through her hair and then kisses the top of her hand, as he murmurs softly, "Hey, there."

They lie quietly for a moment, before he speaks, "Karen, about today; about what you said-"

She cuts him off before he can finish the sentence, "It's OK. Liv covered it."

"I'm sorry." She looks up at him, questioning. "You shouldn't have been wondering in the first place. You shouldn't have ever felt that way. I'm sorry for that."

"Dad, I'm a teenager. I would have felt something similar to that even if things were different." He just smiles weakly as he kisses her head again.

"I'm sorry anyway." He sighs, inhaling her – she always smells the same to him, like that small, pink thing that grabbed his finger, before even opening her eyes; and changed his life. "Your mom and I, we were never-"

"Never the way you are with Liv." She finishes the thought for him.

He chuckles quietly, before continuing, "Yeah. But you guys, you and Gerry, you made it all worth it. And not, in a sad way. You made me so happy. Your mom and I weren't happy as partners, but we were so happy as your parents. And I need you to always know that. No matter what's happening, no matter where I am, or what I'm doing – if all I am is your dad, that's enough."

She lifts her head slightly and kisses his cheek, before resting it on his chest again. "Dad, could I come for Thanksgiving. I know it's only two weeks away, but-"

"Karen, you remember the first thing I told you after I told you I was moving?"

"That there's always a ticket for me to come visit."

"Yes. There's always a ticket."

"I know, but it's expensive; flying back and forth."

"Don't worry about it. We always have enough money for you to visit. So if your mom's OK with that, of course you can." He squeezes her just a little bit tighter, before saying, "As much as I'd like to believe you want to spend some time with your amazing dad, what's really the reason for the sudden change of heart?"

"I just…" He sees her eyes wonder to the floor; Zoey lying on her back and Nur sitting on her midsection, her back against Zo's folded legs; as she keeps giggling and clapping her little hands. Then she lies down on top of Zoey, resting her head on her chest, murmuring gibberish. "I want her to like me, to know me."

"She likes you already. She'll love you when she's old enough to know how to. It's just with Zoey… I mean, she likes her better than she likes me and Liv." He tries to laugh, but she just looks on, quietly.

"I'll be closer next year." She says wistfully and he just rubs her back soothingly.

"Time for bed everyone." Liv calls out from the table where she's been playing Speed with Cy; only sign that they're alive occasional scream – SPEED! They all protest, loudly; Nur joining the rebellion gladly, but fifteen minutes later, everyone's in bed, Liv smiling victoriously as she settles into his embrace.

"We can move."

"Liv, I wasn't upset about moving." She looks up at him. "Ok I wasn't upset _just _about the moving. I was upset because you wouldn't tell me why you didn't want to do it."

"I just…" She falls quiet, her voice drifting of, she can feel her mind withdrawing from his embrace.

"Hey, it's just me. Talk to me, Livvy."

And there it is, that familiar feeling; the feeling of all the walls coming down, crumbling to the ground. Leaving just her, his Livvy, in his arms. "This is the first home I had. The first place where I felt completely safe. Not in a physical type of way, just I felt safe. Like I could be whoever I needed to be and it would be OK. This place, it's where I grew up Fitz. It's where I got Zoey. It's where I finally let you in. It's where I learned how to let myself be happy. I just, I know it's silly, but I'm scared of moving. I'm scared of letting go."

"You should have just told me. It's not silly. But I can't know these things, unless you tell me." He runs his hand down her body; a touch filled with familiarity; intimacy. "We can call an architect, see if there's a way to maximize the space."

"That's OK. We can move. I realized today, feeling safe, it's not about a place; it's about accepting yourself. And I think I'm finally ready to do that."

He knows today is the anniversary, but he doesn't say anything. He knows there's more to the story than what she told him, but he's waiting for her to be ready. Twenty years, and he's still waiting for her to tell him; to fully let him in. He's still waiting for her to heal completely; afraid that some wounds just run too deep. All he can do is love her, fully, completely, loudly. Love her for who she is – stubborn and complicated; brilliant and outspoken; kind and fragile; and so full of love. Love her and make sure she knows she's loved.

"Thank you for today." And she just nods her head, barely; drifting to sleep in his arms. They're the safest homes she's ever known.


	25. The Glass Dome

**I wasn't planning on updating this today, but I thought it might be worth a try, if I can cheer anyone up.**

* * *

"Do we really have to do this?" He asks in a whiny voice, akin to a sleepy four year-old's.

She chuckles, lifting her eyes from what she's reading to look at him. "Well, let's see. We need a bigger place. We have been looking for three months now and haven't found a single 'maybe'. If we want to move in before summer than, yes we really need to do this. Fitz, he _is_ the best."

He lifts her feet up from the chair and sits down, placing them in his lap. "Second-best could be fine." He starts massaging the balls of her feet lightly; he can feel her relaxing.

"You are not changing my mind." But she flashes him a smile that says – I dare you to try.

He drops her legs to the floor and she lets out a cry of complaint, before he pulls her into his lap, kissing her. At first it's tender, their lips brushing softly, barely touching They pull apart, their foreheads together, air between them filled with electricity. "Changed your mind yet?" He asks with a smirk, but she just shakes her head, looking at him, her eyes challenging him. The second kiss is deeper, their tongues dueling, as he runs the tip of his along her bottom lip before pulling away. "How about now?" He asks through a smile. She just shakes her head, their noses brushing against each other, making them both giggle. He kisses her again, this time his hand moves under her shirt, his fingertips setting her skin on fire. Hers run up his back and then get lost in his hair. When they finally break for air, lips swollen, her arms are around his neck, not letting him move away. She leans her forehead against his and smiles lazily.

She asks him this time, "Changed _your_ mind?"

"I have nothing to worry about." He says with a wide smile, as he moves his hands down the bare skin of her back to her ass, lifting them both up.

She lets out a loud laugh, surprised, and then adds gingerly, "You have nothing to worry about." Wrapping her legs tighter around his waist.

She tugs at his shirt as he carries her, "Shower, or bed?" He asks as he moves to kissing the other side of her neck, pushing their bedroom door open with his back.

"Shower," she says breathlessly, "we shouldn't be late," before kissing him again.

* * *

"I can't believe we're twenty minutes late." She hisses at him as they rush down the busy street.

"It's fine Liv." He squeezes her hand reassuringly, but she just shoots him an angry look. He returns a smile, the one he knows she can't resist, the one that makes her knees go weak. "As far as I remember, you're the one that started the second round."

She blushes slightly, thinking about it, wishing they were still in bed, "I don't know what you're talking about." She says in an innocent voice, but a sly smile creeping on her face.

She looks at the numbers on the street and finally stops, "I think it's here?" He checks his phone and then nods his head. "Fitz, I need you to behave." She says playfully, but there's a hint of seriousness in her voice. "Seriously, adult behavior." He just nods his head, then kisses her temple, muttering "Don't worry," Before leading her up the stairs.

They push the door open, and call out as they step inside.

"I'll be right with you." And moments later a handsome man descend down the stairs, his smile widening as he takes the sight of her in. As he reaches the bottom step he opens his arms, inviting her in for a hug, letting out an excited, "Liv!" She smiles back at him, tilting her head to the side slightly, before throwing herself in his arms, letting out a quiet, "It's been too long." His hands run up and down her back, before settling just below her waist. She kisses his cheek fondly, before stepping out of his embrace and turning around, ready to introduce her husband.

It takes all her willpower not to chuckle. Fitz's face is deep red, and she can see the vain pulsing on his forehead, from where she's standing, half a room away. He's shooting daggers at the man's chest, no hint of friendliness on his face. "Fitz, honey," she tries to break him out of it, and he moves his eyes from his to her face, but the expression stays the same, "this is Ryan." She turns to Ryan with a wide smile, her hand gently squeezing his arm, "Ryan, this is Fitz, my husband."

Ryan gives him a thousand-watt smile, the most adorable dimples appearing in his cheek, as he curls the corners of his lips. "So, you're the one." Fitz gives him a half-smile, his eyes quizzical, "The one that finally got Liv to settle down." Fitz nods his head and shakes the man's hand; gripping it tightly, completely unconsciously. "God knows I tried," Ryan adds with a hearty laugh.

He's tall and incredibly handsome; in the most obvious kind of way; he's not a type; his attractiveness is a fact. Fitz has seen his face countless times, he's seen this man; he's seen him play; he's cheered for him and admired him. Until he found out he and Liv were dating, that is. He was the basketball star of his generation; he had the height, the speed, virility; he had his Livvy – he had everything. He was talented and adored; by experts and fans alike. He was adored by his own son. All Gerry wanted for his fifth birthday was to go to the game; the game of the season; of the championship; the game at which _he_ would play. He remembers Gerry cheering as he made the winning shot; the ball flying graciously across the court, hitting the net without ever touching the ring. He remembers Gerry cheering; he remembers his stomach turning into an endless pit; the sinking sensation in his legs as that man pulled _her_ into an embrace, as she kissed him, the way she used to kiss Fitz, as she smiled at him, the way she used to smile at Fitz; while he stood and looked, unable to turn away.

He feels her hand trying to open up his fist, her fingers straightening his; her thumb circling his palm, trying to calm him down. It breaks him out. He smiles at her, kissing her temple lightly and then fires a smile at Ryan, "Sorry, I just got distracted."

"No worries." Damn-it-he's-charming. He hates him all the more for it. What a prick! Liv squeezes his hand, trying to get him to relax, but he just further tenses up.

"So, is this the house?" She asks, trying to break the tension, so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"Yes." Ryan says, as he turns around. "It's a five-bedroom, three-bathroom, three-floor brownstone. Let me show you around." And he gestures them to the archway on their right. "So through here is the kitchen and the dining room. The previous owners liked open spaces so they knocked down the wall, and joined the rooms. It makes it look more spacious, and it's also great for families." Liv takes in the space. The back wall is covered in French windows, double doors opening into the garden. Everything in the room is a soft off-white color; warm and inviting. The wooden floors are old, but she loves that, it gives the place a sense of history; gives it a story. She notices Fitz looking at her face, looking at the way it changed, how an unconscious smile appeared and grew, how her eyes filled with light. He lets go of her hand and wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She leans into him, inhaling him. She can see them here. She can see them drinking coffee in the morning, as Zo sits at the kitchen counter, eating her breakfast. She can see Nur running around, pulling her "blankey" behind her. She can see their kids, growing up here; she can see them making memories – celebrating birthdays, anniversaries.

Ryan gives them a moment, before he ushers them through the original hallway, into the living room. The back is, again, covered in windows, shadows of the restless trees playing on the opposite wall – it's a beautiful show. There's a fireplace, and Fitz looks at Ryan, who reads his mind before he can even ask, "It works." The work around it is beautiful, the frame hand-carved. She can see their family photos on the board, each one in a different frame; she can imagine a Christmas tree in the corner and them lying underneath it, looking up at the flashing lights. She can hear the noise filling up the large space, making it warm, making it feel like home.

They head up and inspect the rooms on the first floor. Four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The corner room above the living room is large, the walls light-lilac, the furniture, the same off-white. Zoey. She can see her in there, making it her space. The other three are smaller, but big enough – Karen and Gerry wouldn't be using them all the time anyway; they wouldn't mind. The fourth room used to be a nursery, but it's different than the others, filled by melancholy; it looks like no one's stepped in in years. She turns to Ryan quizzically.

"It used to be a nursery, but, the couple who lived here – they couldn't have kids. They kept it like this, hoping, that one day they'd have a reason to fix it up – but the day never came." Liv steps out of Fitz's embrace and walks to the dusty crib, running her fingertips over the chipped paint. The history, the sadness, it doesn't scare her away, it makes her want to hear Nur's laughter filling up this room. As if, somehow, that happiness would make it better; as if their happiness could help take some of the sadness away. They head up the stairs, but she pauses before closing the door, wondering, how did she get this lucky.

They go into the study on the top floor first. Fitz likes it; it has wooden paneling, but it's not too medieval and dark, the windows and the light from the garden make the room come alive. The bathroom is spacious, with a modern shower; but both their looks rest on the large bathtub in the middle of the room; their eyes meeting; she smiles at him, fingering her hair, evidently flirting; as his eyes travel up and down her body, undressing her mentally, as he licks his lips. Ryan clears his throat, grinning, "Would you like to see the bedroom?" Liv blushes slightly, but Fitz just smiles at Ryan, genuinely for the first time.

As they step into the bedroom, Liv lets out a loud gasp, tightening her grip on Fitz's hand; looking up at him, wide-eyed. He smiles and wraps his arm around her, their fingers still intertwined. They just stand in the doorway for a moment, afraid that it might disappear if they step in, that they might wake up from a dream. This, this is too perfect to be real. The room is spacious and empty, except for a large bed, sitting underneath a glass dome that is decorating the ceiling. The bottom of the dome is made up of colorful glass; a mosaic of flowers, their petals shades of blue; their vines intertwined. The colors get lighter the higher up they are, and the top part is completely plain, transparent – the view unobstructed. The wooden floor is painted white, the reflection of the dome decorates it, making a circle of dissolving blue flowers around the bed; shimmering as the light dances to the tune of the February breeze. "I love it." She whispers, breathily, as she steps under the dome, looking up, turning around slowly. There's something magical in the way she's engulfed in the light; something magical about the way she lifts her hand, watching the shadows fall on the floor; something magical in the way this room makes her smile.

"I'll give you a moment." Ryan says and leaves the room, leaving Fitz to just look at her, to take it in, take her in. He crosses over to the bed, and sits, extending his hand to her, motioning her to sit next to him. They lie back, their feet still on the floor, but their faces gazing up, looking at the sky. "It's perfect, huh?" He says turning his head towards her, brushing his knuckles against her cheek lightly.

"Yeah." She smiles, taking his hand from her cheek, interlacing it with hers, running her bent fingers over his knuckles, before she brings them to her lips, giving each a feather-light kiss. She lets their hands rest between them, as she looks up at the ceiling, again. "But, what about Cy?" Her logic kicks in.

"We'll think of something." He says dreamily. She smiles, her lips barely moving, but a light coming into her eyes; that's why she loves him. That naivety that lets him enjoy things, that makes her take a breath and enjoy them as well. The innocence that makes her allow herself to believe that, this is, indeed, perfect.

"It's Brooklyn." She says finally, her mind unable to rest for long.

"Hey, that's a good thing." He says softly, as he starts rubbing small circles on the back of her hand.

"It's far away from Zo's school."

"She can transfer. They have private schools here as well. And I'm sure we can find one where she'll have to wear a uniform just the same, and where the kids will be equally snotty." She shoots him a look. "I'm kidding, Livvy. I know she loves it. And I know you love it. And it's a great school. But a change of scenery when she starts high school might not be a bad thing." She opens her mouth, but he cuts her off, "and before you say anything about her ballet classes, if she stays in her school, she can just go after; if she transfers, she can commute. Kids do it all the time. It's a half an hour subway ride and she can meet you after work and you can come back together."

"We don't even know what they're asking for it. We probably can't afford it."

"I asked and we can. The family's in a rush, we're probably going to be able to get them to lower it down." She turns to her side, just looking at him, not saying anything. Then she scoots over, closer, and lies on top of him, resting her head in the crook of his neck, as her hand draws circles on his chest; and his fingers trail her back.

"I can see us growing old here. Our kids growing up and then their kids running around. I could see babies in that nursery, hear the sound of little footsteps running. I can see us living here; I can imagine all of it."

"And we could set up a swing in the garden. And with that high ceiling we can get an enormous Christmas tree." She lifts her head up and kisses him lightly. "Babies, huh?" He says as soon as they pull apart, and she just nods her head, kissing him again. "Well, I was sold on the house the moment I saw that bathtub." He ads, eyeing her playfully; laughing when she slaps his arm lightly.

"There's just one thing though." He ads in a serious tone, the atmosphere changing. She props herself on her elbow, to be able to his face better. "I just really wish it wasn't Ryan that found it." And all seriousness disappears as his face breaks into a mischievous grin. "I mean all I'm saying, we're not tipping him. The way he hugged you, resting that hand so low on your back – that's borderline sexual harassment." She tries to get up, but he pulls her back down, his hand squeezing her ass. "Not that you seemed to mind."

"Oh yeah." She says before she kisses him, deeply, her hand brushing against his crotch, intentionally.

"Livvy…"

She pulls away, grinning at him, "You were saying?"

"Nothing."

"We should go, talk numbers." But she doesn't move, no she just stays with him in their little cocoon.

"One minute." She just nods her head, and buries it deeper in the crook of his neck.

* * *

**Alexindigo's review gave me the idea for jealous Fitz and a guy from Liv's past, so thanks for that, although I feel like I should say the next chapter will really go into that more. **

**I'm away next week, but I've pre-written three chapters, so expect some updates. **

**And thanks so much for still reading this and reviewing!**


	26. Packing up the Past

**I wasn't going to post this until tomorrow, but i literally have nothing to do at the airport aside from edit and publish, so enjoy :)**

* * *

She's sitting on the floor surrounded by boxes – some being emptied, others being filled, surrounded by things in passing; things that once mattered, but no longer do and those that still hold sentimental value. He comes in, stepping over the cartons, through the maze of discarded items. He sits behind her, moving her hair from her neck so that he could start massaging her back.

"Mhhhhhm." Is all that she can come up with, leaning into his touch as she tilts her head to the side. "God that feels good." He kisses the base of her neck softly, sending shivers down her spine and she lifts her hands behind her head and runs her fingers through his hair. "Kids in bed?"

He whispers softly, his lips brushing against the soft skin of her neck, "Yes."

"And Ryan's gone?"

"Yup."

"Thank you for sorting it out. All the paperwork stuff."

"You're welcome." And he moves his lips to the other side. "How's packing going."

She chuckles softly. "OK. Well, actually, it was going OK, until I discovered a box of old magazines, then I started reading all of that, and well… that was an hour ago."

"Ooooh, let me see!" He says excitedly, as he reaches for the box, his arms at her either side. He pulls out a copy of Dance, looking at her quizzically. She opens it and flips through some pages, clearly looking for something. She finally pauses, and hands him the magazine, grinning proudly. Inside, a photo of a seven year-old Zoey, doing an arabesque in a colorful tutu, a small tambourine in her hand, ribbons weaved through it. "When was this?"

"She was seven going on thirty and she won second place in her category. And after they called it she walked up to the judges and asked them what would have made her Esmeralda better. And they gave her tips, you know the classics, keep your lines clean, toes pointed at all time, land your jumps softly. And she let them speak, listened carefully and after they were done, she said, "Thank you, but that's not what I meant." And they all just looked at her, confused, as she asked them how to make it about the dance, about the character and not the elements. And this one judge smiled and told her not to worry, she was already there. And later, he came up to me, said he was the editor and that they'd love to shoot her. She was so excited, so happy. It was pretty amazing. So when it came out, we went shopping and we had a deal that we'd buy one from every single stand where we saw it."

"You're an amazing mom." He says with a warm smile.

"She was a pretty amazing kid." Then she corrects herself, "She is pretty amazing."

"So is the rest of the box Dance magazines? Are we moving all of those?" She leans back into him and he wraps his arms around her, his hands resting in her lap.

"No, there's other stuff. I don't remember most of it. It's just stuff that meant something, and I didn't want to throw it away."

He reaches into the box again, then freezes when he sees the magazine in his hand. He can feel her body stiffen against his, and she sits up straighter as she reaches for the magazine. He utters, "Livvy…" but then he drifts off, unsure of what to say. Finally he breaks the silence, asking tentatively, "Why do you have that?"

She takes in a deep breath and then says. "I saw it on the newsstands one morning. And I just stood there, in the middle of the street. I just stood there. I mean you looked like the Kennedys. She's Jackie, I mean the style, the grace – everything. And you with all that hair, and that smile. And Karen and Gerry, all curly hair and deep blue eyes. All-denim-and-white. The Kennedys of 21st Century. I couldn't not buy it. It was the New Yorker, and you got your first Pulitzer. So I started at it for twenty minutes just standing in the street, nodding my head every time the vendor asked if I was OK. Then he just gave it to me. And I just held it staring at the cover, afraid to open it and read. Afraid of what reading it would make me feel. I was just standing in the street staring at this magazine, running late for my date, but not caring, I got there and he proposed to me. And I couldn't say yes. I wanted to. I wanted to marry him. I wanted to have a family, to have normal, to be someone's somebody. I wanted to marry him. And I just kept thinking about the fact that you were wearing my pin. I wanted to marry him and I just kept thinking about that damn pin, and you wearing it. And then I realized I didn't want to marry someone, I didn't want to have a family, I didn't want to have normal – I wanted you, and us, and this, him – it was just trying to fill a void. It wasn't fair, to him, to me, which is why I couldn't say yes." She laughs to herself, "At least that's what my shrink and months of therapy taught me."

"Liv-" he says tenderly, as he kisses her cheek softly.

She cuts him off, turning around and cupping his face, "It's fine."

"That's the thing though, it's not. It's not fine, but we never talked about it. I didn't want to bring it up, because I, I didn't want to open old wounds, and really, I thought there was nothing I could say to make it better. But, we talked to Zoey, you talked to Karen and I spoke to Gerry. We dug up the past for everyone, but for us. We need to talk about this." She drops her hands from his face and looks away. "Liv, we really need to talk about this. About me cheating, and Mellie, and the kids – we just glossed over all of it. And that's fine, but I can tell, I can see, the way you always leave the room when I talk to Mellie, the way you never talk about that time, unless it's Zoey-related. I mean you never told me you were engaged-"

"I wasn't." She cuts him off, anger evident in her voice. "I never said yes."

"Well you never told me he proposed. I just, I need you to talk to me, to tell me all the things I screwed up, so that you can stop hurting. So that you can finally stop hurting."

"I don't want to talk about-" She says almost pleadingly, but he cuts her off with an almost broken, "Liv."

"I don't want to talk about it, because I'm still so angry. I am so, so angry at you. I love you, I love you more than I thought was possible. I love the little things about you, and the stupid things, and the big things, like how you love the kids and how you love me. I love all of you, everything. And you make me so happy. And yet, when I think of this, I am just so angry Fitz!" She inhales deeply, a deep sob escaping, as tears start streaming down her face. "I just, I am just so angry. I am angry that you cheated, I am angry that you were so stupid, I am angry that I left without fighting. But more than anything, I am angry that we lost all this time. I look at these boxes, the memories I'm packing and it's photos from Christmases that you weren't there, birthdays I spent staring at my phone hoping you'd call; anniversaries of our first kiss I spent hating myself for the things I felt. I am angry about the mistakes, but more than that, I am just so angry that life got in the way. I'm angry that we missed out on so much that we'll spend the rest of our lives trying to catch up. I forgave you, I forgave you a long time ago, for hurting me, for breaking my heart, for making it impossible for me to trust anyone for years to come – I forgave you that, but the time, the moments we never got to have – it's a living regret. Staying up with you the night before your first book tour, and you helping me cram for my bar exam; seeing our friends get married; going to movies at midnight and wandering the streets until dawn." She says it all in one breath, barely inhaling. The words stumble from her lips, falling loudly, echoing. She looks at the floor as her tears drop, silently, before saying,"She got to have a life with you and I didn't." It's barely above a whisper.

He pulls her in, her tears soaking his shirt as he strokes her back gently. "Why didn't you tell me, Livvy? We've been together for four years."

"It seemed silly. I mean we got our happy ending. Seems silly to be regretting things, to be dwelling on it." She shifts her head on his chest, bowing it down, so that it's only her forehead hovering above his heart. "I mean I feel so silly, being jealous ofMellie. I have you now. We have kids. It's silly and childish."

He lifts her chin up, but she still looks down, avoiding his eyes. "Look at me." He leans his forehead to hers, "Look at me Livvy." She meets his gaze, her eyes red. "It's not silly. But here's something you need to understand. Mellie and I, we were friends; we were partners. But, we, we were never like us. We were never… When I see you, it's like I see light, literally, when you're around, everything just lights up. Becomesclearer, brighter, more real. When you're around I can breathe; my lungs, they just fill, breathing becomes so easy. When you're around I can sleep. When you're around I can dream; I can dream dreams and believe they can become reality. You give me strength, to do the right thing, to be better, to do better, every single day. You come into a room, and you're all I see, literally. I never had that with Mellie. We had an understanding, and a friendship at one point; but the way my universe just shifts, the way everything aligns when you're around – I never felt that for anyone. So the things you're feeling, the regrets, they're not silly, they're real. Because I shattered our dreams. And I am so, so, sorry. That's something I can never give you back; give us back. But the least I can do is help you carry a part of the burden."

She inhales and then lifts her head and looks into his eyes. She sees regret, so much regret in them, but more importantly she sees love; the two forever intertwined, because for great love no amount of time is enough. In that moment she knows she can tell him; she can tell him and he'll understand everything.

"My dad killed himself." Inhale. "And I found him." She doesn't look away, and neither does he. They just let their eyes speak.

He doesn't ask why she hasn't told him, it would be selfish, this, this isn't about him. He doesn't ask what happened, it doesn't matter; no, the details of death are not what haunts her; it's a tragedy of a wasted life that to this day paralyzes her mind. He doesn't ask anything, and he gives her everything. He cups her cheek and she leans into it, still looking at him, "I'm sorry he couldn't be the dad that you needed." She smiles. He understands. It's as simple as that. He's not trying to make it OK, because that's the one thing it can never be. And he's not making her re-live it for him. He's knows it's not about a tragic night; it's about tragedy of life. They stay like that for another moment, on their knees, between the open boxes. They stay like that, quiet, their eyes, their touch, speaking volumes instead.

Nur's cry echoes through the room. "I'll get her." He leans in and kisses her forehead, then disappears. He comes back, quickly, a bottle of wine in hand and she gives him a confused smile. "She just fussed. She's back down." She still looks at him, eyes questioning. "Oh, the wine," he sits down and hands her a glass, "we are going to unpack all of this tonight. We'll go through all the boxes, all the memories, and you'll tell me stories and I'll tell you stories. We'll catch up. We'll have a date night; memories, and great wine."

She looks at the bottle, then back at him, wide-eyed. "Fitz. We've been saving this, for when the book comes out."

"We'll buy a different one. This one, it was meant for tonight. The book, it's all about the stars, about the past, so this wine; it's meant to be drunk tonight." She smiles and nods her head, lifting up the glass.

He sits behind her and she positions herself between his legs, leaning into his chest. "Magazines again?" He asks smiling, and she just nods her head, pulling out aCosmopolitan from 2001.

"Oh, god," she laughs, "this was embarrassing. I had just gotten the HRW gig and they said that they wanted to interview me for their careers issue; add some diversity." She rolls her eyes at the word, laughing, "I showed up, statistics at my fingertips, you know, all ready to talk about global injustice; world hot-spots, the whole nine yards, and the first question she asked – So, what mascara do you use?" They both erupt in a laughter fit, as she proceeds to explain the incessant questioning that ensued, about make-up; her purse collection, and the type of condoms she preferred. They barely calm down, then she adds, "Then my mom framed it – a photo of me looking like a drag queen and the title "Wall Street's Rising Star and why she prefers glow-in-the-dark ones". He spits out his wine, burying his head in the crook of her neck, both of their bodies shaking uncontrollably, until tears are rolling down their cheeks. Happy tears.

"I think we should frame that one. Keep it above the fireplace." He tries to grab it from her hand, but she wiggles it out of his reach, throwing it on the recycling pile.

"Next one!" She exclaims victoriously. She pulls out Men's Health, blushing as his eyes widen. "This is from Abby. It was a birthday present. When I turned 30!"

"I'm sure it was." He retorts, grinning.

They make their way thought the box of magazines, then move to photo albums andscrap-books; then cheesy souvenirs and ugly gifts. They finish the wine, as they sort the past out, laughing as they go through it; holding each other as they recount the time they spent apart. Making new memories as they recount the old ones.

That's how they spend the weekend. On Monday morning they load up their lives into a moving truck. She picks the last box up, heading out. She pauses at the door, turning around. She takes in the emptiness. The tall windows, the city in the background, she remembers the way Karen looked out; the place where Zoey stumbled on her pirouettes; the place where she crumbled in her mom's arms; the place where he kissed her, where she smiled, her finger tracing her lips. Memories. She looks down at the box in her hands, a box of photos from the wall – the one of their hands on top. She smiles and turns around, leaving the place where she grew up behind

* * *

**I just got a bit teary-eyed – my babies are growing up! I know you guys were looking forward to more jealous Fitz, but I had this chapter written already (and a couple of next ones) and it was really important for me to address the elephant in the room, because they never really talk about it; before they move on figuratively and literally. But now that I know jealous Fitz is a hit, I have a feeling there might be a birthday party – tipsy Liv – jealous Fitz – chapter coming up.**


	27. Staying Connected

**Ok, so the second pre-written one. The formatting got a bit messed up, because I'm updating from my iPad, so some of the words might have been strangely merged, or there might be extra spaces. But I hope it won't be too annoying. This one is for Mint, who's to blame for all the Gilmore Girls references :)**

* * *

"I think she's down for good now." Liv says as she puts the baby monitor on the cupboard next to the door and tiptoes across the floor, collapsing onto the bed, snuggling next to Zoey. "Are we all ready?"  
"Yes!"  
"Food?"  
"I've re-stocked on popcorn, because we were running low, and Oreos." The girl pauses for effect, "We forgot Oreos!"  
"Do we have the list?" Liv asks grinning.  
Zoey shuffles around, lifting the fluffy purple throw, and moving around the huge pillows, until finally, "Found it!"  
They've spent most of the day in bed, watching Gilmore Girls, going through the list of their favorite episodes, talking loudly over the fast-paced dialogue.  
"Which one is next?"  
"Oy with the poodles already!" Zoey says with a grin.  
"Start it up, kid!"  
She wakes up, her phone vibrating. She tries to pull it out of her back pocket, but she knocks over a plate with left over pop-tarts in the process. "Hi." She smiles.  
"Hi." He leans back into a big leather chair, running his hands though his hair, his lips curving unconsciously.  
"Give me just a second." She says as she puts the phone between her shoulder and her ear and tries to get out of bed, without waking Zo. She steps into the pop-tarts as soon as her feet touch the floor. "Crap," she hisses under her breath, making him laugh. She pulls the covers up, and runs her hand over the girl's hair, kissing her head softly; before gathering the food-remains and putting them on the already over-crowded desk – they'll sort it out in the morning. She grabs the baby monitor on her way out, finally speaking as she steps into the hallway.  
"Sorry. I'm all yours now. Hi."  
She can feel him smile back at her, "Hi." He walks over to the bed in the hotel room and lies down, his back slightly propped up. "What was that about?"  
"I fell asleep in Zoey's room. We were having our Gilmore Girls marathon."  
"You guys haven't had that in a while."  
"We haven't. With packing and moving; the contractors and everything in between, it's been crazy. We're finally settling into a routine, so I thought it would be a good way to spend the weekend."  
"Have you warned Cy?" He asks with a soft chuckle.  
"I don't know what you're talking about." She says in her most indignant tone. He can almost see her face; the way she purses her lips when she plays innocent; the way she bats her lashes a certain way.  
"I'm talking about the fact that every time you two have a marathon you spend the following week firing quotes at each other and talking in references. And I distinctly remember the insanity from a few years back when you decided to go on a road-trip to Harvard, looking for that creepy Inn. I still have the photos of the cats in my phone to prove it."  
She chuckles, despite her best efforts, "Fine. Point taken. We have had our moments of insanity. But we have grown up. We'll be fine. We'll be nice to Cy."  
"Mhmmmm. I'm sure."  
"Shush mister!" They both laugh, but the laughs fade into wistful smiles, both breathing into the phone, and listening, intently – breathing out and breathing each other in. "So, how was your day?" She asks finally.  
"Good. Busy. I missed you like crazy for the most of it." He sighs. "I hate this."  
"Hey, it's almost done. We'll see you in Santa Barbara in six days and nineteen hours."  
"Eighteen and a half." He can hear her smile. "A woman walked up to me today. Her husband was a fireman. He died on 9/11. She said the book helped her understand. She thanked me."  
"Oh, Fitz." She sounds happy, but there's a tone of languor in her voice, "I know you miss him. And I know this isn't easy, talking about it, about him, all the time; remembering, but it's the right thing. And I love you for doing it, even if I hate the fact you're away. I admire the strength, I just… I just have so much respect."  
"How is it that you always know just what to say?"  
"I guess I'm just Lorelai Gilmore material!"  
"And, so it starts." They both laugh, throwing their heads back. Hers sinks into the pillow, his resting against the headboard. They run their hands through their hair as their breathing steadies.  
"Liv…" His voice suddenly raspy. "What are you wearing?"  
"Fitz…" she tries to sound firm, like the idea is absolutely insane, like there's no way in hell she's doing that; but instead, her voice comes out hitched and labored. She looks down at her mommy-covered outfit, deciding she needs to get out of her leggings.  
He can hear the wheels turning in her head; they haven't done this in a while, and well – the last time he was away, he almost didn't come back, so he can understand her hesitation. But then he hears her shifting, moving, and he smiles mischievously, already getting hard. "Livvy…"  
The way he hushes out her name, his voice pure sex, dissolves all her initial awkwardness. "The Navy T-shirt that still smells like you and that pair of red lacey underwear you got me for your birthday." Her voice comes out sultry, her words breathy. "The shirt is coming off though, because I'm getting incredibly hot." She lets out a quiet moan as she twists her nipple gently. "I wish you were here, running your fingers along my skin."

* * *

She's cutting up some carrot sticks for Zoey, when her phone rings the next morning. The photo on the screen makes her smile every time he calls – Nur wobbling between him and Zo; she's in diapers, trying to get away from him, trying to avoid being bathed. She presses speakerphone, the smile still evident in her voice.  
"Hi."  
"Hi." He sounds tired. "Good morning."  
"Why are you up? Seattle is three hours behind, it's just past the crack of dawn there!"  
"I couldn't sleep. So I just thought I'd call you and tell you I love you." She stops chopping for a moment, taking in his voice, there's something definitely wrong.  
"Why couldn't you sleep?" He can hear the concern and he berates himself for calling her.  
"It's nothing. I just… I had a weird dream. The kids were falling to the ground, and they were going to crash, and we were just standing at the side, unable to do anything."  
"Aw, Fitz, honey, it was just a strange dream. Did you talk to Karen and Gerry?"  
"No. It's still early, I don't want to wake them up, just because I'm having a mini-meltdown. I'm sure they're fine. I just, I just hated the feeling. I know it was just a dream, but the helplessness, it was killing me."  
She can feel his mind racing, trying to make sense of whatever it is that he had seen. She can see him running his hands through his hair, than resting his face in his palms, as he exhales. "I wish I could be there. Kiss it away."  
"Me too." He lets out a frustrated sigh, "I miss you. A month is a long time. Too long."  
She smiles into the phone, "Only six days and thirteen hours left though. You want to talk to Zo? I'm sure she could come up with something to occupy your mind for a while."  
"She's up?"  
"Yeah, I was just going to take the carrot sticks to her room anyway." She heads up, a bowl in hand, phone in another; going over their plans for the summer – Santa Barbara for Karen's graduation, Costa Rica for a week, kids-free (except for Nur and an overpaid nanny); then Europe with the kids – they're just running over their mental list of all the bookings. "OK, I'll see if we can get our Europasses as soon as we land in France, and you email them again about that Notting Hill flat." She fires at him, warp-speed, as she knocks on Zoey's door and pushes it in with her elbow. "I've got Zo. I'll talk to you later. Love you." After a quick, "I love you too." She hands her the phone, kissing the top of her head, whispering into her ear, "He's a bit homesick, so can you just, you know, distract him for a bit."  
Zoey grins and instead of good morning starts off with, "So tell me about Seattle's sandwiches. I read about a place where people literally queue for hours each day."  
Liv smiles as she heads out, but then notices the stack of leftovers covering Zoey's desk. She pours the snack in the half-empty popcorn bowl and stacks the empty plates on top of each other. As she reaches for the last one, lifting it up, it reveals a small wooden box. The lid is off, revealing the contents and her heart sinks. It's a box of their things. A familiar set of eyes is staring at her from the photograph. A young woman's arm is around a tall man's waist. He is kissing the side of her head. A little girl is on his shoulders, her arms wrapped around the top of his head. She's grinning; that beautiful, familiar grin. They look so happy. She reaches for the photo, but then her hand just hovers above it; she's afraid to touch it. She snaps out of the moment, realizing Zoey had noticed and picks up the stack of dishes and heads down to the kitchen. She throws the leftovers away, too distracted to feel bad; and then starts washing the plates. She scrubs them, pushing the sponge into the surface; wishing it didn't glide so effortlessly across the porcelain.  
"Hey." The voice startles her, making her drop the plate. It shatters in the sink, the loud noise filling the silence.  
"Sorry." She utters breathlessly, trying to calm herself by pressing her hands on the cool counter surface. "I didn't hear you come in."  
"It's the box of the stuff they gave you at the hospital." She says as she sits down on the stool, propping her elbows up on the countertop. Placing the box in the middle. "I found it when I was packing. I didn't know what it was at first, but then I remembered you used to show it to me. I opened it, but, but then I just stopped." Liv looks down at the shattered pieces breathing in. She picks up a tea towel and dries her hands, before sitting on a stool across from Zoey. She remembers the day they got the box. They took it from their house a day before it was auctioned off. That's all Zoey wanted from her room; a year that had passed being too long for a five year-old to mourn; too long for her to hold on to memories and hold on to a list of things she'd like to keep. She just wanted the box, and even that – she only wanted it because it was pink. She didn't remember she got it for her fourth birthday; she didn't remember them decorating it together. She just liked the pink, not realizing the flower-petals were her fingerprints; not realizing her mom's were the leaves. She took the box and Liv told the agency what to put in storage, put away, but keep – for someday. When they got home, Liv took out a paper-bag from the back of her closet and emptied it on the table, Zoey sitting behind her. They went though the items, putting them into the box, one by one. Now, now it's time to take them out.  
"If there is anything in there you don't want to keep I want you to know it's OK. You can keep anything that means something, even if you can't explain what it is that it makes you feel. But if there's something you don't want, that's OK too. If you don't feel anything, that's OK too. However you feel about these things – it's OK. And I won't love you any less because of it." She squeezes the girl's hand and smiles at her tenderly. She squeezes it back, then pulles it away, hovering above the lid briefly, tracing the little fingerprints gently. She opens it.  
She pulls out the photo and puts it to the side. Next she takes out a leather wallet. She opens it, fingering the satin lining. There's still money in it. A couple of scrunched up receipts. Cinema tickets. Finally she pulls out a photo of a smiling baby from behind the transparent plastic. Her finger trails the messy writing on the back, Z at Halloween. A toddler in a pumpkin costume smiles at her. She puts the photo on top of the other one, putting the wallet to the side. Next there is a pair of glasses; only the frame really, the glass gone. Maybe it got shattered in the accident, perhaps long before – maybe it was never there. There's another wallet, female. In it, only money and a folded photo; black background, white messy triangle in the middle, with a bean-shaped gap in the noise. Liv gasps, a sonogram. Zoey just stares at it for a moment, then puts it back into the wallet and places it next to the other one. Finally, there's a necklace in the corner of the box; the thin gold chain glistening in the morning sun; a little Z-shaped pendant dangling from it. She plays with it for a moment, letting it fall down her fingers, as she pulls them apart, and then closes her fist, looking at the way the shimmering shadow dances on the countertop. She finally drops it onto the photo and puts that pile back into the box. She takes the wallets and looks at Liv, looking every bit the child that she is. "I don't want these."  
"Are you sure?" She just doesn't want her to regret it one day; she doesn't want her to have any regrets, not the ones that she can prevent.  
The girl just nods her head as she makes her way to the bin. "I, it's a reminder of a life I don't remember, of things that never happened. The photos, they're little pieces of me, but this, their lives – that's, I don't want it. Holding on to it seems pointless."  
"OK." She kisses the top of her head, before pulling her into a tight embrace, ignoring the girl's loud protests, and, Mom, I'm almost a grown up! She lets her breathe, and gives her some space; but still keeping her in a firm embrace. "Are you OK Zo? I mean this, this was a lot." She bends down slightly to be able to look straight into her eyes.  
"I'm fine mom." She says with a faint smile. "I knew that stuff was out there, and now I just know exactly what it was."  
"If you want to talk-"  
"I know." She hugs her and props herself on her toes to kiss her cheek. "I have you, I have Fitz, Karen, Gerry, Cy. I'm good mom. Honestly." Her smile widening. "We seemed happy." She says softly.  
"Yes you did. You seemed happy. And you were such a cute baby." She grabs her cheeks, and pulls gently, eliciting a protesting laugh from Zoey, who starts tickling her in defense.  
"What are you two doing? Cy asks, doing his best to put on his serious face, startling them. They didn't hear him come in. He's in the basement flat, on his own, but close enough.  
"Oh, Michelle." Zoey says with a faux-French accent and they both erupt in a fit of laughter.  
"Not that show again." He grunts; and they just laugh in response.

* * *

"Hi." He's lying in the hotel bed; the sheets too crisp, the room too big; the silence overwhelming – he misses her, breathing next to him.  
"Hi." She's in their bed, propped up on a pillow, reading; the sounds of Zoey's breathing filling up the room.  
"Five days and twenty hours left." She giggles softly; she loves that he misses her as much as she misses him.  
"Only." She says teasingly. And she can almost see his dramatic, wounded face. "What are you doing?"  
"Serving up the sentence for my literary success." She chuckles and then adds in a hushed voice, "Don't make me laugh, I'll wake Zoey up."  
"Did you guys have another Gilmore Girls marathon then?"  
"Nope. We were just talking. We went through that box of her parents' things today." She pauses, closing her eyes for a moment, just focusing on his breathing, "Her mom was pregnant."  
Silence. Inhale. "Wow. That's a lot to process."  
"Yeah. The doctors never told me. I guess, I guess I wasn't family."  
"Liv-"  
"They were happy." She says, trying to choke back the tears. "They were happy. I just, I don't know how to make up for the fact that they're gone. And I'm crying now, and I'm freaking you out, and I'll wake her up, oh god." She says it all in one go, hyperventilating; inhaling, but the air never quite reaches.  
"Livvy," He says in that soft baritone that he only uses on her, the tone he knows gets to her core. "Breathe for me. In-out, In-out, In-out. Come on baby, breathe." She listens to him, and her lungs start to rise rhythmically, listening to his voice. He can hear her breathing steady and he speaks, "You don't need to compensate for anything. She has a mom and a dad now; she has a grandma and Uncle Cy and she has more siblings than any teenager could possibly need, or want. She's not short of anything. Least of all love and security. She's good Livvy. She's happy."  
"I just… I just feel like, they died and I got this great kid out of it. I just feel so guilty."  
"Liv, it was an accident. A tragedy. And out of a worst-case situation she got a chance at happy, so stop feeling guilty about it. No one blames you for it, for none of it; least of all she."  
"You promise?" She asks in a weak voice.  
"I promise."  
"God! I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I've been an emotional mess for the past week."  
"It's OK. It's a lot. With moving, being alone with the girls, the new house; with missing me…" His voice trails off seductively.  
"I am not telling you what I'm wearing." She says grinning, wiping off the not-yet-dry tears.  
"I wasn't going to ask." He retorts.  
"Ouch." She says in her practiced-to-perfection hurt voice.  
"We both barely slept last night. And you need sleep, Livvy, you're exhausted. So, we are going to listen to each other breathe and we are going to fall asleep; and being the rational adults that we are not have any more weird dreams."  
They settle under the covers; both lying on their sides – states apart – turning to each other, their bodies intertwined.

* * *

**Next up – Karen's Graduation :)**


	28. Today

**Rollercoaster ahead. Think of this chapter as that Shondaland icon lol**

**It's a bit longer than usual, but I couldn't split it up, so here we go. **

* * *

She feels his arms around her waist; she feels his back rising and falling against her chest; she feels his warm breath on her shoulder. She smiles at his overwhelming presence, turning in his arms. She kisses him, lips brushing against lips, lightly, as her hands travel down his body. He stirs at her touch, a smile spreading against her lips.

"Hi," he says sleepily.

She kisses him again, before responding. "Hi. I wasn't expecting you until this morning."

"I got an earlier flight, so I came in, really," he starts kissing her neck, "really," another kiss as his hand moves under the scrap of lace she refers to as underwear, "really, late last night." But she's no longer listening, as a soft moan escapes her lips.

Their chests are still rising rapidly as she rolls off of him. As their breaths even, she turns to her side, placing her right hand over his heart. "I've missed you."

He takes her hand in his and kisses the inside of her palm, his lips lingering, as he pulls her closer to him, so that her body molds to his side, perfectly. She puts her head on his chest, her hand seeking out his. Their palms meet, her petite fingers intertwining with his, lazily. They fall asleep again, his lips on her forehead and hers on his fingertips.

"Mom, Fitz!" The sound of knocking and Zoey's voice awake them, making them both jump out of bed.

"We're coming Zoey. Just wait for us downstairs." She yells, trying to keep her voice calm; starting to curse under her breath as soon as she's sure Zoey's out of earshot. "I can't believe we overslept."

"Well at least we're already naked so there's no need to strip before we shower." He says grinning, trying to lighten the mood, to get her to relax.

"We can't be late to Karen's graduation because we were having sex!" She exclaims frustrated, before she slams the door to the bathroom closed behind her. "And we are showering separately." She adds, somewhat unnecessarily.

/

"I can't believe you lied to me about when it begins!" She says, pouting, without looking at him. "I can't believe you didn't trust me!"

"Livvy," He says, threading carefully, "It's not you that I didn't trust, it's us, as a family. We have a baby and a teenager-"

"A nanny who picked Nur up on time and a teenager who was ready on time!" Zoey cuts him off, not even trying to not sound amused.

"Thanks, Zo," he turns towards her, sarcastically bowing his head towards her, "way to have my back!"

"Eyes to the road, cowboy!" Liv says grinning, clearly done being dramatic.

They get to the high school with fifteen minutes to spare, instantly spotting Gerry and Mellie; his recent growth spurt setting them apart in the crowd. Zoey runs towards them hanging herself around Gerry's neck.

By the time Fitz and Liv get there, she's talking to Gerry, both kids clearly animated, while Mellie stands there, watching them somewhat awkwardly.

"Mellie." He says with a warm smile, pulling her into a hug.

"Fitzgerald." She says as she steps out of the embrace, wiping a lone tear away, "I can't believe she's graduating."

"I know." He says, a proud smile stretching across his lips.

The woman turns towards Liv, eyeing her discretely, before giving her a small smile, "Olivia, thank you for agreeing to come and bringing Zoey. It means a lot to Karen." To Liv's utter surprise she sounds genuine.

"Well, Mellie, thank you for making it easy for me to agree." They all stand there awkwardly for a moment, inspecting their shoes and the parking-lot cement.

Finally Gerry breaks the silence, "Shall we go find our seats? It should begin shortly." They all nod their heads furiously and follow closely behind him. They have a great view of the stage, only a few rows of chairs separating them from a sea of red. Fitz bites his lip nervously, until she takes his hand and starts running small circles on the back of it. Gerry and Zoey chat away, completely unfazed by their environment, while Mellie shuffles though her purse furiously, looking for her handkerchief.

"Can I help you with anything, Mellie?" Olivia asks with a warm smile, once she notices everyone's starting to calm down.

"Oh, do you have a tissue maybe?" She replies, blushing slightly. Liv hands her a whole packet, still smiling, and squeezes her hand soothingly.

"She'll be great Mellie!" The woman nods her head appreciatively, before turning her attention to the stage as a chubby, bald man begins to speak; his oratory neither short, nor sweet.

"And, now, please welcome with a warm applause, the class valedictorian, Karen Grant!" And there's an eruption of noise as she stands up, and walks to the stage, head held high.

She starts of quietly, her voice shaking, but then she looks out into the crowd and sees a sea of smiling faces. She looks at her speech one more time, then looks up, speaking from her heart.

"Fellow students; dear friends, teachers and parents,

I could tell you that today is the end – the end of childhood, the end of the age of carelessness without consequence, the end of responsibility for our lives lying with someone else. Or I could tell you it's the beginning, a fresh start; an opportunity to live our dreams, freely, without waking up at the crack of dawn for AP Physics. But the thing is, it's neither and yet both of those things.

Today is the day we graduate. The day many of us for the first time celebrate our own achievements. It's a day where we celebrate our maturity, the day we demonstrate we are ready to shoulder responsibility. It's a day to earn our adulthood. To think of it as an opportunity to start fresh would be foolish – there are no new beginnings. However, it is an opportunity to look back at the mistakes we've made, the challenges we faced, and the successes we can celebrate; it's an opportunity to look back and learn from that, so that we can go on, smarter, stronger and wiser. Today is the end of an era; it's the day when the past, the future and the present interlace – letting us marvel at our progress and strive towards a new success, while we have the love and support of those closest to us to fall on.

I want to thank our teachers. They provided us with a safe haven to explore new things in; they gave us opportunities to discover our dreams; they gave us tools to make them come true. I want to thank you, my classmates and my friends, for inspiring me every day. Not just to be smarter and work harder, but to be a better person, kinder, more tolerant, more involved. I want to thank you for reminding me to be a kid, to enjoy childhood, in a world that tries to push us prematurely into adulthood. And finally, I want to thank my family. Mostly, for just loving me; for teaching me how to love myself and others. I want to thank them for giving me confidence to explore my boundaries, to test my own limits; for instilling in me the love of learning. Finally, I want to thank them for the most important lesson, that all that matters in life is what is in your heart and your mind.

Thank you all. And enjoy today – it is our day! We earned our right of passage!"

There is a moment after she finishes her speech. A moment before everyone springs to their feet, cheering. A moment when he can just see his daughter's face relaxing, as her hands still and her smile widens. That moment, the moment of satisfaction; of pride over her own actions; that is what makes him teary-eyed; that is what makes him cry. And then the eruption; of noise, of applause. She bows her head humbly before walking off the stage; confidence evident in her step – she climbed up a child, and left an adult.

They clap as they call out names, of future artists, teachers, presidents. Once it's done they try to step out of the crowd, wait at the sidelines. When she finally finds them she throws herself at Fitz, grinning, as she exclaims excitedly, "I graduated!" He hugs her tightly, blinking furiously, terrified that if he starts crying, he might not be able to calm down and play it cool for the rest of the afternoon.

All he musters, his voice strained, "I'm so proud of you." And he hugs her just a little bit tighter.

"Dad, you're crushing me." She finally lets out, and they all laugh; Fitz reluctantly letting her out of his arms. She hugs her mom, wiping away her tears, stroking her cheek gently, "Thank you mommy." Mellie just smiles, another tear rolling from her eye. "Liv! Thank you so much for coming." And then she throws herself in Liv's arms, surprising everyone. Liv returns the hug, running her hand up and down Karen's back. She takes her face in her hands and tells her, "That was an amazing speech Karen. I am so honored that I had a chance to hear it." It's the right thing. Somehow she always know what the right thing to say is. Fitz smiles to himself. All he feels is happiness. She hugs Gerry and Zoey together; messing up his hair and giving Zoey a flower from each of her bouquets.

They finally make their way to the parking lot, now crowded with parents, graduates, and cars with ribbons on them. Hers is at the very end, a huge purple bow decorating the top. First she looks between them incredulously. Then, then she jumps up and down, her hands covering her mouth; her throat letting out a squealing sound. They can't help but laugh, as Gerry gets the whole thing on camera. She gives them all about thirty different hugs, and thanks them until it's almost incoherent; the letters jumbling as they come out.

Finally Mellie suggests they all head to the house to have a quiet lunch, before the celebratory party she's planned for tonight.

"Can we go with Karen?" Gerry motions to him and Zoey, looking pleadingly at Fitz and Liv. Their eyes three-times their normal size, their lips hanging in a childish pout.

Liv just smiles at Fitz, who nods his head slowly, before adding, "Be careful! No showing off, Karen. And no weird music Gerry. And wear your seatbelts!"

"Dad," Karen chimes, clearly annoyed at what she sees as a condescending tone, "I have driven before."

"I know Karen, but not this car." He kisses the tops of their heads, before following Liv to where they parked and heading to the house. They catch up with the kids on the way, Zoey propping herself on the back seat, making faces at them though the back windshield. At first she just sticks her tongue out, and wiggles her nose, but then she starts including her hands as well; eventually starting to perform a mini-dance. Initially they both keep a straight face that lacks all encouragement, but eventually they just can't resist and they start laughing.

"I didn't know she could do that!" Fitz says sounding impressed, as Zo licks her nose.

"Seriously!" Liv grins at him, "You're worse than she is!" And then she just smiles, looking at him tenderly. Putting her hand over his, the one that's resting on her knee.

"What?"

"Nothing." She looks down at her lap, tracing her wedding-band "I'm just happy."And she just gazes at him.

First she sees his jaw clenching. Then, then she sees his arms gripping the wheel, as he flinches. She sees him shut his eyes and she follows his line of sight. All she sees is a truck, standing still and a car gliding sideways down the street. Noise. She hears noise. Car horns. Breaks. Screaming. Shock. Shock is all she feels. No she's in shock, she doesn't feel anything. He stops the car abruptly and she flies forward, the seatbelt pulling her back, the force straining her neck. She tries to get out, but her hands are shaking. Shaking uncontrollably. Zoey. All she can think of, Zoey. Shaking uncontrollably. Her fingers, they don't' listen. She's pressing into the red plastic, but nothing is happening. Zoey. A click and it springs back, letting her jump out of the car. All she sees is Fitz, pushing through the gathering crowd. Fitz running towards the car. Towards the wreck. She's screaming, "Call 911!" but it doesn't sound like her voice, it's not kind and it's not controlled. She kicks off her heals. Running. Zoey. All she sees is her face, laughing, as her tongue touches her nose.

She's close enough. Close enough to see the shattered glass. Close enough to hear it crunching under her feet. Close enough for Karen to see her and run into her arms. Blood from her cut running down her cheeks, mixing with tears. "Liv." She hugs the girl, relief flooding over her – they're OK. "I'm so sorry." She pulls her in tighter. Pulls her in, trying to help her fight off her guilt, trying to get the girl to believe – it wasn't her fault.

She looks over Karen's shoulder. She doesn't see Gerry, or Zoey. She doesn't see them. But they, they have to be OK. She lifts the girl's head in her hands, asking, but her voice is pleading, "Where are Ger and Zo?" Karen just lets out a cry and crumbles her head in her hands.

"The truck hit their side." Spinning. The car was spinning. She doesn't see it. She doesn't see their side. She doesn't see anything. Just white. Lightheaded. And she's going to be sick. She can feel the acid travelling up; she can feel it burning. She bends over coughing up yellow liquid. She doesn't feel better when she's done. No, she's running. Running as she wipes her lips. Running to see.

He's bent down in the driver's seat, turned towards the back. She comes closer. Zoey. She's in the back seat, slouched over, lifelessly. She lets out a cry, as she covers her mouth, "Zoey." He instantly turns around, his white shirt covered in blood.

"Liv, I need you to breathe for me." She doesn't hear. No she doesn't hear anything. She runs towards the car and tries to open the door, but it's jammed. She pushes her arm through the broken window, trying to reach the girl on the other side. Cut. Blood. But she doesn't notice, she doesn't care. She can see Fitz tying something around her leg; bleeding, he's stopping the bleeding. Blood on his hands. She has to touch her, hold her. She pulls at the door again, and again, and again – a mother not ready to let go. Finally it swings open, and she jumps in, scooting towards Zoey.

Pulse. Find her pulse point. Neck. It's weak, thready, but it's there. She pushes her hair back, as if somehow doing that will bring her back, as if it will let her wake up. There is a metal rod in one of her legs; there's blood shimmering in her hair. And cuts, so many cuts; she was in the eye of a hurricane of flying glass.

Lights and the siren sound. EMTs pushing her out of the way. Gerry, his arm covered in blood, but he's still conscious. He's talking. He's asking. Zoey is all he's asking about. She's standing at the side, looking at them as they jump around Zo, as they attach tubes to her, bandages, plastic. She's not her baby, no right now she's their patient, a patient to be saved. She feels his arms around her and with that her legs just give out and she starts to crumble to the ground. But he catches her and lifts her up. He holds her up.

She doesn't remember the ride to the hospital. She doesn't remember him pulling her back as the doctors wheel Zoey away. She doesn't remember fighting him, trying to get out of his grip. She doesn't remember the way he held on to her, or how she buried her head into his chest; breathing him in, because the air, the air was too heavy. He called her mom, he called Cy; he called Mellie. He did everything; everything he could; he just couldn't take her pain away.

She's sitting in the waiting room, her head in her hands. She doesn't feel anything, nothing but his absence. Then, there are hands moving soothingly up and down her back, and two heads resting on her shoulders.

"I'm so, so, sorry Liv." The girl says through tears, her body shaking.

Liv pulls her head into her lap, running her fingers through the girl's hair, her other hand drawing soothing circles on her back. "It wasn't your fault honey. It was an accident." And she just keeps repeating it like a chant, "It was just an accident." She moves her hand from Karen's hair and wraps her arm around Gerry. "You OK kid?" He just nods his head silently.

"She'll be OK, right Liv?"

She doesn't know, but all she has left, all that's letting her hold on is hope. So she just nods her head, "She's a fighter."

He comes back from sorting out the discharge papers and he sees them like that, huddled together; her arms wrapped around them – giving, caring. And seeing that, that finally breaks him. He goes into the bathroom. He runs. He can't keep it down, no, he's throwing up. Bitter taste in his mouth. He washes his hands again, no trace of blood; but he can still feel it, the way it stuck to his skin, how quickly it dried. He splashes water on his face, but it doesn't make a difference. No, he still can't breathe; the coolness just makes him shiver. He collapses to the floor, his back against the cold wall; trying to inhale, but the air, the air is too thick. Sobs are leaving his body, making him shake uncontrollably; making it impossible for him to breathe in.

"Fitz." She bends down, sadness in her blue eyes; as she tries to ease his pain with a touch. "She'll be OK."

"What if she's not?" He spits out, disgusted at the thought, his eyes fixed to the floor.

She's quiet for a moment, and then she speaks, the force and conviction in her voice a striking contrast to his, "If she's not, it will be awful. It will hurt like hell and you and Liv will never be the same. But she will need you, she will need you more than she's ever needed anything. She'll need you to remind her to live and not just exist, and she'll need you to take care of Nur, and to take care of her; she'll need you to make sure she can do it too; she'll need you to help her forgive herself; she'll need you to deal with that guilt that suffocates. She'll need you, because you're the only person that will understand; that could ever understand the emptiness that can't be filled; the hurt that is numbing; the little reminders that make her smile while she cries. She will need you, Fitz. And you will need to be there. And you need her." She pauses and stands to her feet, extending a hand to him, "So get up, clean up, and make her believe that no matter what, somehow you'll find a way to go on."

He just looks at her for a moment and smiles to himself – Mellie Grant never ceases to surprise him.

He takes her hand and pulls her into a grateful hug, "Thanks Mellie."

"I spoke to Karen and Ger, they want to wait until Zoey's out of surgery. So, give me your keys and I'll go grab a change of clothes for you and Liv." She says in front of the waiting room, looking over his shoulder through the glass door, at this woman she spent years of her life hating, sitting there broken and frightened, comforting her kids. He nods his head appreciatively and hands her the keys, before heading over to Liv. Gerry scoots to the side so that his dad could sit next to the love of his life; and instantly he can see Liv's face relax a little bit, as Fitz wraps an arm around her, pulling her head to his chest, massaging her shoulder.

The doors open and he sees the doctor's face. His body instantly stiffens, making her look up, fear in her eyes. It seems like eternity from the moment the doctor comes in, to the moment he says, "She made it." An eternity of anxiety and fear, of hope, wavering. She lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding, and a quiet sob of relief as he pulls her in.

"She had a brain bleed, but we stopped it and there wasn't any residual swelling, so she should be fine." She lifts her head up form his chest, wiping the tears away, smiling.

"What about her leg?"

"She'll need some physio, but she should regain full function."

"Can she dance again?" The doctor's face falls, so she ads, "She does ballet," as if trying to change his answer by letting him know how important it is.

"No, I'm afraid not. Her knee was injured badly and we repaired it, but it will never be as strong as before the accident. It can't handle the strain of ballet."

"Liv, she's OK, that's what's important." He says, trying to be the voice of reason; but he too dreads the moment they'll have to tell her, the moment they'll have to tell her, her dream is no longer a possibility. There is something so awfully crushing, so cruelly disheartening about that. She nods her head in acknowledgment and shakes the doctors hand, thanking him, asking when they can see her.

"Give us ten minutes, then someone will come to get you."

As soon as the doctor turns around Karen start weeping, the relief and guilt mixing; she's drowning in it. Fitz and Liv pull her in an ebrace, whispering softly, "It's OK." Gerry goes to sit down, but then stops in his tracks – blood. He turns around, eyes wide, "Liv, why are you bleeding?"

Fitz' head shoots up and he looks at Gerry, who just points to the blood stain on the chair and then Liv's back. She just waves her hand, dismissing it, "I'm fine. I probably just got Zo's blood on me." She cringes a little as she says it, her body suddenly feels heavy. Fitz looks at the way the crimson stain reflects the light, the way it almost shines - that's not dry blood.

"Liv, no, you're bleeding." He says, now panicking, and without listening to any more of her protests gets a doctor. An examination room, so sterile and cold; the gown barely covering her up – her skin, chilly goose bumps. Bent knees, her head back; lids shut – keeping the tears at bay.

"You've had a miscarriage."

She didn't even know she was pregnant. She feels numb. She can't feel this loss, not right now. She just nods her head, "OK. Can you just give me something, for the pain." She looks at Fitz, his eyes fixed on her, making her feel self-conscious, "We need to go see Zoey."

"Liv-"

"No one knows about this." He just looks at her, confused, "No one knows, Fitz. Karen can't handle it, and neither can Zoey. We never knew it existed, so we'll just pretend this never happened."

He wants to protest. He wants to tell her, no, they can't lie about this, they shouldn't. But instead he just nods his head. Seeing her like that, so utterly broken, he can't bring himself to cause her more pain. He just nods, and hands her a clean set of clothes. She avoids his gaze, the putty in it, the sadness, suffocating. His love suddenly feels heavy.

They're siting on either side of the girl's bed, holding her hands. It's past midnight and she's been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours, asking what happened, asking about her leg. And they tried to kiss away the pain on her face, every single time; but the brokenness remained.

"Are you OK?"

She just nods her head with a small smile; exhausted, but unable to fall asleep; afraid of waking up and realizing it wasn't all a dream. "Are you?"

And he smiles, "Just trying to process. What a day."

Yesterday, yesterday was the day their lives changed. Dreams were shattered, prayers answered. Yesterday was a day they faced tragedy and felt relief that follows it. Yesterday, a day their lives changed. And today, today is the day to start rebuilding them.

She lets go of Zo's hand and goes over to his chair, curling in his lap, disappearing in the comfort of his arms. Disappearing in the heaviness of his love.

* * *

**Don't hate me. Really, I'm a nice person. And they will heal. I promise. It will just be a little bumpy. But they will. I know that was long, and a rollercoaster of heartbreak, but I really didn't want to split it in two chapters – I felt like the joy and the happiness needed to be there to appreciate the gravity of the accident. I hope you liked it. That's the last of the pre-written updates, so it will be a few days before the next one.**

**Thank you so, so, much for reviewing and sticking with this story. Your feedback on my fics and the way it helped me grow this year, has really been amazing!**


	29. The Aftermath

Sentences. Words. Letters. Symbols devoid of all meaning. Devoid of everything. The white screen glowing behind them, illuminating her young face. She's been reading for hours, since this morning really, or maybe it was last night. Maybe, the night before. She can't really tell. Not anymore. Time seems to stand still, but also pass so quickly; getting away from her mercilessly.

"Zoey?" A soft knock on the door. She takes a moment to respond. A moment to compose herself, to pretend she sees something in the text; anything but emptiness.

"Come in." She tries. She really does. To make her voice sound like it used to. She tries; to keep it from breaking. From reaching that pitch, just slightly higher than normal; that tone that signals weakness, that signals pending brokenness. She tries and she almost succeeds. Others might miss it, but not Liv.

"What you doing?" She could ask her what's wrong, but she already knows. She knows that the fact that she can walk just fine, but can't dance is killing her; it's tearing her apart in ways that they can't possibly understand. She knows that the fact that she can feel the music, but not express it is paralyzing her. That the fact that she can't disappear for hours in movement, until she finds herself, becoming one again, is choking her, making her suffocate. She knows she feels trapped and has no idea how to get out. She knows and she can't help. She knows that the only thing that will is time, time to process. So she doesn't ask. Instead she smiles and kisses her temple. Instead she lets her feel loved.

"Nothing much." She darts her eyes. She doesn't look up. No. Not because she's afraid she'll cry; she won't. But because she can't handle the way she looks at her, like she's broken. Like she's a project, something to be fixed, someone to be helped. The way she looks at her, only seeing the brokenness. "I'm just reading stuff for the debate." She gives her mom a weak smile, without ever really looking up. It's just lips curving upwards, but the light never reaches her eyes.

"You should go to bed. Tomorrow's a big day." She kisses her again, her lips lingering for a moment, as she pulls the girl's head to her stomach; bending slightly to hold her closer – to hold more of her. Words, words fail her. Words have been failing her; but touch – touch is a way for her to show love; to speak without ever really saying anything. The girl just nods, her cheek against the cream cashmere; her eyes closed; she doesn't need to see, or to hear, she just needs to feel.

Her mom leaves and she goes back to scrolling through the pages; the pages of medical trials, of research done across the globe; doctors' biographies; through blogs of success stories, and those of horror. She is preparing for tomorrow. She checks her itinerary for the last time and falls asleep trying to memorize the map.

Months, months of reading instead of sleeping, reading instead of eating, reading instead of living – months of holding on to a dream, not even a distant possibility. Months, but she's not ready to give up. Months of holding on to hope, after everyone had moved on.

Her shoulders a straight line; her hips perfectly aligned. She moves her legs. Foot out first. She feels the muscles. The way her toes curl and then the arch of her foot, as she pushes, and pushes, until it hurts; until it's better than it was ever before. Just a little bit better. The leg just a little bit straighter, just a little bit longer; just a little bit higher. The pain of muscles being strained. The power. The high. The adrenaline of her mind beating her own body. The feeling of music. The notes matching her heartbeat; her fingertips feeling the air, the lightness of it, the coolness of it. She jumps. Her heels leaving the floor; her toes pushing off. She jumps, up; she flies. She doesn't fall.

She jumps. She's free. Free, until she wakes up.

It's always the same dream. Never the stage, always the studio. Bolero; the soft thuds of the snare drums filling her up. It's enough. Just her, dancing. The music and her body being one, that's enough. No glitz, no audience, nothing and no one else. Just her, just dance. And she always wakes up when she jumps. She never lands. Instead, it's always a crash.

She barely eats her breakfast. She plays with her food, cutting it up in smaller pieces, re-arranging it, sipping on her tea occasionally; everything, but actually eating. She's not hungry. She hasn't been hungry in months. Hungry for food, for learning, for love – she hasn't been hungry, not for a while, not for life. Without dancing, all the other stuff, the things she loved, they fade, incomparable.

"Zo, you haven't eaten much." He says as she starts to get up. A tone in his voice letting her know he expects an answer.

"I just wasn't hungry. I'm too excited." The thing about her, she is a terrible liar. She has learned how to control her voice to perfection; she has learned how to mask her face, but her eyes, her eyes are always a giveaway. And now, now they dart across the room, burning a hole in the back wall.

He can tell, he knows that she's lying, but he doesn't what she's hiding. "Today's a big day. It's a new school, new people; it's a change. So I get the excitement, but I'd still like you to finish your breakfast."

She finally looks at him, panicking. She looks at Liv, pleading. "I don't have time." Her train is in an hour and she needs to get there; she can't be late.

"You have plenty of time to finish your breakfast. Your school is ten minutes away and doesn't start for another hour. You'll be fine." There's finality in his voice, a tone that tells her to sit down and eat. But she doesn't give up; she's clutching on to straws.

She looks at Liv, her eyes wide, her lip trembling. She knows she'll give in. She has been, since the accident. She's been letting her off the hook; she's been pacifying, instead of parenting her. "Mom," she says it in a soft tone, a tone she knows will strike a chord, "I just want to get there early, so I can figure out the building." She lets it hang for a moment and then a quiet "Please," that she knows will seal the deal.

"Go get ready." And she gets up from where she was sitting, "I'll pack this so that you can have it on your way." The girl turns around and smiles, uttering a quick "thanks mom" before heading to her room. She can hear the voices rising in the kitchen; she can hear them fighting again; but for the first time in months she doesn't feel guilty about it; for the first time she feels like she can fix it, if she can just get to her meeting. She can fix herself, and that will fix them.

* * *

Her phone rings. Dr. Reston's office. Zoey's there. And she can't breathe. Her mind is racing. She calls Fitz. She offers to come with her, but she says no, she'll do it. She doesn't remember the drive; she just remembers trying to figure it out – how she got there, how she got an appointment; when; why she lied; why didn't she trust them enough? She gets there and she's crying; her small frame swallowed up by the big leather chair. They told her they couldn't do it; they told her the same thing that they told them and it broke her, once again. She holds her until she calms down; she holds her – lost for words, for what to do. She just holds her. They get to the car. Silent. Drive back. Silence. She pulls into the driveway, keeping her hands on the wheel, tapping her fingers for a moment, before turning the engine off. She stares ahead, refusing to look at the girl; her puffy eyes and the dried trails of tears, too much. "Kitchen."

As they come in, he stands up from the stool at the counter, his eyes darting between them, finally settling on Liv. "What happened?"

She inhales, drops her purse on the counter, laying her palms flat on top of it – the coolness soothing; steadying – everything spinning less violently. "She contacted him a _month_ ago, so she's been lying to us for a month." Zoey's just looking at the floor; tears rolling down her cheeks silently. "She pretended she was me, to get an appointment, because he wouldn't have agreed to see her again without parental consent." She exhales loudly, dropping her head; her chin almost touching her chest.

"Zo what were you thinking?" He asks softly, the gentleness of his tone surprising.

"I just wanted to meet him. I thought if I did I could get him to operate on me; I could get in on the trial." She manages to choke it out, her unsteady voice breaking up the loud sobs. "He helped this girl in Maryland. And this kid in Chicago. I just wanted him to help me too." She trails off, before "I thought he could." There is something so broken about her voice, something so devastating about the utter lack of hope.

"But, Zo, we told you there was no way. We _have been_ looking into this, into him, into everything." He says softly, looking into her eyes, pleading.

"You just don't like the risks!" She fires back, the tears still falling, but her voice is strong, anger masking the fear, the guilt.

"Of course we don't." Liv shoots back, finally lifting her head, blinking furiously trying to keep the tears at bay. "You can walk now, your leg is fully functional. You can have a regular life-"

"I don't want a regular life. I want to dance."

"But you can't." He says it and she just shakes her head; Liv uttering a quiet, "Fitz," pleading with him. But he ignores it; she needs to hear it. "You can't dance again Zo. You can't. You just can't."

"Stop saying that!" She just shakes her head, more violently, as if doing it keeps the words at bay, as if not hearing them makes them untrue.

He walks over to her, wrapping her in his arms, burying her head in his chest; the tears soaking his shirt. He just keeps repeating, "You can't," and "It's over." She just sobs into his chest; her arms wrapped around him; her hands clutching his shirt. He picks her up in his arms and carries her up to her room. He lays her down on her bed, lying next to her – her head in the crook of his neck; the tears still falling, slowly rolling down her cheeks, almost lazily; almost resigning. He just draws little circles on her back and occasionally kisses the top of her head. The tears stop, but they still stay like that for a while – him holding her and her holding on to him. "I'm sorry."

He just nods his head, then looks down at her face, "I know, but this can't go on. You can't spend your life chasing an impossible dream Zoey. It's too big of a waste; you have too much to share with the world to hide away."

She speaks after a brief pause, her voice quiet, almost a whisper, "But I'm not good at anything else. Ballet was all I was ever good at."

He lifts her head from his chest and props himself up slightly. She needs to see him when he tells her this, she needs to believe him. "You are amazing at so many things, but you always focused on one. You are so smart. You are the smartest person I know, well maybe after Cy," and she chuckles lightly at that, "you could do anything. You could be the captain of the debate team, or the mathletes, or a film society. You could easily get into any school in the country to do whatever you wanted, if you set your mind to it. You just have to figure out what you want to do Zoey. And I know that ballet was your thing, and you _were_ amazing at it, but this is an opportunity, a chance to find out what else makes you happy. It's a chance to be great at other things."

"I could be the president." She says, a soft smile playing on her lips; she's not joking. There's a glimmer in her eyes, a glimmer he hasn't seen in a while, in months.

"Yes you could be." And she lays her head back on his chest. "Did I ever tell you that my dad wanted me to be the president; he raised me to be the perfect candidate. I probably could have made it."

Her eyes widen in surprise, "What happened?"

"I met your mom," he chuckles as her confused expression, "and she gave me the courage and strength to be a writer instead. I know you miss dancing, but I also know that more than that you're scared. You're scared of going from being great at something, to being average. But, the thing is Zoey, you can never be average, because _you are_ so extraordinary. You will be great at something, but that's not the most important thing. The most important thing Zo, is being happy."

"That was deep." She says grinning, but it fades away quickly; her face serious once again. "Are you and mom going to be OK? I know it's my fault that you've been fighting and that she's so sad, but I'll be OK, so you guys will be OK too, right?"

He hates it. That they've been fighting. That she's noticed. But more than that, he hates the insecurity in her voice, the plea; he hates the guilt she feels.

"It's not your fault." He tries to sound firm, to make her hear the truth. "We've just been… A lot happened. The accident… It just-" Damn-it, his voice sounds anything but confident. He sounds as confused and as lost as he feels; he sounds terrified. "A lot happened, and it's been tough, for everyone, including your mom. But she'll get there; she'll be better. She just wants you to be happy." She just nods her head, but doesn't look up. She doesn't know if she can do it; if she can be happy for her mom. As if reading her thoughts he repeats, once more, "She'll be OK Zo. And none of this, none of it is our fault. And you, you can't fix it. You shouldn't be fixing it." She nods again, but this time she gives him a weak smile, as well. He gets up, but pauses at the door. "Dinner is in an hour. You will be coming down and eating with us. You are grounded for a month, we'll discuss the details over dinner." She shoots up, to protest, but he cuts her off, "Zoey, you lied to us, you skipped school, and you went to Boston on your own. We are not negotiating this. You are grounded. And this, you lying and going behind our backs – it is never happening again. Clear?" His voice is strong. Confident. Parental.

She just smiles, "OK, dad." It just came out. And they both grin – he is, he has been, for a while.

He comes out and she's sitting next to the door, her back against the wall. He gives her a hand and pulls her up. "Thank you for that." He just nods his head as they walk down the stairs. "But we can't ground her. There's no need. She gets that what she did was wrong; she's not doing it again. We're not grounding her."

He walks to the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter. "No. We are grounding her. We are doing this Liv. We are doing it, and we are doing it my way. I let you handle this, I let you do it your way, because I thought it would help; help her, help you; but it's not. So now, now it stops. You handling things by letting the time pass ends here." She opens her mouth to protest, but he doesn't give her a chance. "She needs boundaries. She's a good kid, a great kid, but her world got shattered and she needs boundaries. She needs us to stop walking on eggshells around her, and looking at her like she's broken, treating her like she's broken. She is a child and she needs to be treated like one. She isn't you, she actually needs human contact." He stops instantly; regret momentarily creeping in. She just looks at him, hurt, more than angry.

"What does that even mean?" Her voice is breaking and all he wants is to walk over and hold her. But he stays there, he stays away, giving them both space. He needs to say it; there are things to be said.

"You swim for hours each day. You stay late at work. You do everything you possibly can to make sure you have no time to breathe, let alone think. You're drowning and you won't talk to me about it. You say you need time, I say that's fine, and then you completely shut me out. You won't tell me what you're thinking, let alone what you're feeling. And that's fine, if you can't talk to me about it, but you have to talk to someone. Whatever you're feeling is eating you up alive."

"I feel guilty, OK? I feel guilty. I feel guilty all the time. For buying Karen that car, for letting Zo fool around, instead of wearing a seat-belt; for taking so long to get to her, for not being able to get her out earlier. I feel guilty about her leg, and about what it did to Karen, and I feel guilty about losing the baby." It's the first time she's ever actually said it; actually mentioned it. "I fell guilty."

He starts walking over to her, but she puts her hand up, she needs space; she can't be in his embrace; she needs a moment to just breathe her own air – even as it is, too thick and too heavy. "I saw the way your face fell. When the nurse said it. You wanted it. You wanted that baby. And I lost it." And her voice cracks, revealing the open wounds below the surface.

He just shakes his head, pushing her guilt away – he can't believe he let her think that. "Liv, my face fell because you were hurting, because you were in pain and because I could see the way it hurt you. I could see the way your eyes shut the moment she said; how you tried not to cry; I could see the regret tearing you up and that, that is why my face fell. And yeah, I want another baby at some point, but it had nothing to do with that. My face fell, because_ you_ were hurting. _You_ didn't lose the baby. _We_ did. But the saddest part of it, the saddest part, was the way you were hurting." She slowly brings her hand down and he walks towards her. Slowly. So, very ,slowly. Giving her time with each step, to adjust to him being in her space. Giving her time to change her mind, to keep him at bay. She doesn't. She just steps into his embrace, breathing in his scent.

"I'm sorry I pushed you away." She murmurs into his chest.

"Just don't do it again."

She just nods. But she will – she knows it and so does he. She will push him. She will fight him. She will fight feeling. Not because she doesn't love him; but because she does. Because she still, after all these years, thinks that her emotions, her imperfections break people. Even in his embrace, even now, she can't take all of his love; she can't; because somewhere, under wounds and the scarred surface, she still believes she has nothing to give.

* * *

They have dinner. They talk and she eats; suddenly hungry. She washes the dishes – a part of her punishment. The other part: having to join five different clubs. She does her debate prep, jotting down arguments furiously, the words finally full of meaning. Her mom kisses her goodnight and she drifts off to sleep, with a faint smile.

She dances again that night. She lands her jump. And she wakes up, finally ready to fly.

* * *

**This one was tough to write. It basically cost me two packs of biscuits, three rice-crackers, a whole lot of grapes and a couple of bananas. I'm a stress eater lol But, really, your comments on the last chapter were so lovely that I was terrified of messing this one up. So I really hope this didn't disappoint. **


	30. Talk to me

**It's been 5 million years and I'm sorry. Honestly. I just got busy with other stories and other stuff and then this just ended up being on the back burner for a while. But I can honestly say, I've missed them :)**

* * *

The sound of soft cackling fills the sun-lit room. They both stir slightly, sighing loudly; currently hating the baby monitor. "What time is it?" she mumbles sleepily, her mouth moving against his bare skin; the warm breath tickling his chest.

"Six." He kisses the top of her head, and runs his finger along the arm that is resting on his chest, "Sleep, I'll get her."

"No." She says as he tries to move, tightening her arm around him, throwing her leg lazily over his hip. "Don't move." And she kisses his chest, her lips lingering lazily. "You're a perfect pillow."

"Livvy…" He says, his voice hitched, her hand rubbing his crotch is distracting him. "If I don't get her now, she'll start crying and then she'll be fussy all morning."

She just lets out a dissatisfied sigh, loosening her arm, but making no attempt to move her head from his chest, or her hand from his boxers. He kisses her temple, then lifts her head gently, trying to seamlessly slip out of bed. She scrunches up her nose, and furrows her eyebrows, as she digs her head into a pillow. She worked on Zo's dress until quite late; she didn't come to bed until three, so now she's sleepy and exhausted; and it's making her crabby. She tosses and turns trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in; but the sad truth is – she can't sleep without him.

"This is why we're not having any more babies." And with that she's turning to the other side, burying her face in the mattress, wrapping her limbs around the soft blanket. He just stands there, stunned; his sweatshirt hanging around his neck; the right arm resting in the sleeve, the left one at the side of his body, completely forgotten. Another soft chuckle buzzing through the baby monitor breaks him out and he finishes dressing up as he heads down.

She's sitting in her crib, holding a teddy bear between her small legs, and tugging furiously at its head with her small hands. Every time it springs back she laughs, then as if startled by the sound of her own voice she stops, eyes the room suspiciously and then carries on. He stands in the doorway for a moment, just watching her, smiling, completely enchanted. She looks so much like Liv – the almond-shaped eyes and the full lips, the cerulean blue the only feature unmistakably his. She spots him and grins, opening her arms up, as she lets out an excited, "Da!" And it melts his heart. He picks her up and she slaps his cheeks with her hands lightly, chuckling every time he grins.

He kisses her forehead, "You hungry?" He looks down at the small face, and she just nods her head. She gives up on trying to wrap her short arms around his neck, and holds on to his shirt instead. He talks to her as they walk down the stairs – asking her about her morning, telling her about his day. She just stares at him, clearly amused, participating, in her own language of soft chuckles between the excited yelling of vowels. He puts her in her high chair and throws her morning veggies in the blender. She starts banging her utensils on the plastic, laughing, enjoying the racket; getting lost in it. She laughs until she's out of breath and coughing for air, and he internally chastises himself for letting it get that out of hand; but he just couldn't stop looking at her, smiling at her grinning face.

"You're spoiling her." Zoey says as she comes down the stairs, rubbing her eyes, trying desperately not to smile.

"I am not!" He pretends to be offended, but the mischievous glimmer in his eyes betrays him.

"Are too." And she just hugs him, propping herself on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Morning."

He pours the contents of the blender into a silicone bowl, and drops it in front of the shirtless toddler. Zoey kisses her cheek, and tries to pull away, but two surprisingly strong hands are holding on to the Harvard t-shirt she got from Karen. "Zo – stah!"

"Zo has to eat too." Fitz says as he pours the cereal into the bowl, gliding it across the counter, towards the girls. Instead of letting go of the shirt, she moves just one of her hands and pushes the small bowl of disgusting-looking gooey matter towards Zoey, smiling widely. Zo turns around and grins at him; kissing the toddler's head again; this time lingering and pursing her lips so that they make a smacking sound that Nur absolutely loves. She pushes the bowl back towards her, touched by the gesture, but insufficiently so to actually eat it. She grabs her cereal form the counter – the whole time barely moving, Nur's hand still clutching the fabric tightly. She sits down on a stool, facing the toddler.

"So I'm going to my first homecoming dance today." And Nur just looks at her, tilting her head, as if trying to fully understand, biting her lip with her two lone teeth. "Yeah, I know. I'm excited too." And the toddler just chuckles, before slamming her hands onto the plastic then scooping up the contents of her bowl and smearing them all over her face. As it drops on her chubby tummy she tries to catch it with her hands, laughing. She licks her hands, then makes a content face, before trying to get some of the food that's dripping over the rest of her body. She reaches for Zo's cereal bowl, but then stops short of touching it, pulling her hand back, grinning mischievously; teasing mercilessly. Zoey just gives her a look, the only one that can make her stop in her tracks

"Morning." His grin drops at the sound of her voice, suddenly remembering her comment from earlier in the morning. She kisses the tops of girls' heads, then walks over to him, snuggling into his body. She feels him stiffen at her touch, looking away as soon as she looks up at him. "Everything OK?" He just nods his head, and steps out of her embrace, handing her a cup of coffee and going over to Nur and Zoey. The girl feels the tension building, and finishes her cereal quickly, running upstairs, while the toddler is distracted with her own sticky hands.

"Fitz-"

But he cuts her off before she can say anything. "I have to give her a bath, we have a play-date at the playground."

She just nods and sits down to read the papers. She knows that if she pushes it right now, they'll fight and she doesn't even know what about. She needs to let him calm down, process and then they can discuss it – like adults, mature and civilized. He wipes the food off of Nur's body and she laughs – she likes the tickling.

"Gerry's coming."

She knows. Of course she knows. She's not a forgetful moron. But she tries to control her temper, and just nods her head, "I'll be here when he does, anyway. I'm taking the afternoon off to help Zo get ready."

He knows. Of course the knows that. He's not a forgetful moron. He snaps at her, hissing out an icy, "I know," before he picks up the toddler and marches off upstairs. She drops the papers on the counter, and her head on top of them; theatrically exhaling – for herself, since no one else is there. But there's absolutely no solace in the moment. He avoids her the rest of the morning, spending it, conveniently, in the nursery, and by the time she goes to work she's a whole new level of annoyed and angry. He's acting like a child, and she has no idea why.

* * *

"Zo, come out." The bathroom door swings open and a young lady walks out. "You look amazing, Zoey!"

"Really?" She asks genuinely, blushing. She feels pretty, she does; but she's not used to looking so, so grown-up. The dress is strapless, mid-thigh length; a tulip-skirt attached to the fitted bodice. It's raw silk, in pale mint. Her hair is in soft waves; her lips a blush pink, her face, naturally fresh-looking.

"Really. You look stunning!" She pulls her into a hug, wrapping her arms around her tightly.

"Mom!" She complains after a while, but Liv only tightens the hug, making the girl laugh. "Mom, if you suffocate me, all the work on the dress will have been for nothing." And with that she brings her hands to the girl's face, cupping her cheeks, as she kisses her forehead. As she tries to wipe the trace of lipstick off of the girl's skin, she finally manages to get away, giggling and shaking her head, as she utters, "I'm not a baby!"

"That's not how I see it!" A baritone, strikingly similar to his father's.

"Gerry!" And she throws her arms around his neck. He lifts her up, suddenly strong enough; overnight a man, no longer a boy. He puts her down, then turns to Liv, smiling.

She pulls him in, the same bear-hug that Zo got, "C'm here." She rests her head on his, now, broad chest, as she wraps her arms around his wide back, "God, kiddo, you make me feel so old."

And he just chuckles, kissing her temple, "Well, to me, you always look the same."

A knock on the door, "Can I come in?"

She turns around in time to see his eyes. To see his face the moment he sees Zoey – they get teary and he blinks furiously, trying to play it cool, mumbling, "Damn it. Something in my eye."

"Yeah, right!" Gerry chimes, making them all laugh.

Zoey just looks at him, smiling, shifting in her place somewhat awkwardly. "So you like it?"

"You look stunning!" He kisses the top of her head, then pulls a small velvet box out of his pocket. "Your mom and I got you this." Her eyes go wide in excitement, three times their natural side, as she traces the opening with her finger then lifts the top. A thin platinum necklace shimmers in the soft light, a pointe shoe pendant hanging from it. She smiles, as she lays it out on her palm.

"We know it's been a tough year, and we know you miss it, and this way, you'll always have a piece of it with you."

"Thank you!" She hugs him tightly, nuzzling into his chest, then runs to Liv, giving her a sloppy kiss; finally she asks Gerry to clasp it; tracing the chain around her neck with her fingertips, smiling. "It's amazing!"

A soft cry coming from the baby monitor lets them know that Nur is done with her nap. Gerry offers to get her, but Fitz insists he can do it, and heads out before anyone can say anything else. Liv just glances between the two teenagers, "I'll let you two catch up, before Ben comes to pick Zo up." And with that she's leaving them, heading to the nursery – emotions mixing, boiling, a whirlwind.

"That was a lovely gesture." She says from the doorway, arms folded across her chest.

"Yeah." He says without looking up. He is frustrating. He is infuriating. First he ignores her the whole day; but then he goes ahead acting like a fairy-tale character, surprising Zo with that necklace, all on his own; and now he's sitting there with the most adorable baby,_ their_ baby, on his chest – rocking back and forth, making her heart melt, and her anger dissipate. But then, he's back to monosyllabic answers and the juvenile attitude. She wants to hug him, and kiss him, and yell at him – all at the same time; all at once.

"You've been fussing over her all day?" She means it as a question; as a – why are you avoiding me; as a plea – talk to me; as an apology – I'm sorry for whatever it is I did. She's sick of fighting.

"Well I figured I'd make the most of it, since you've decided this the last baby we're having."

"What?" And then suddenly, it comes back, rushing – the sleepiness, and the crankiness; the thing she said. "Fitz-" But a doorbell interrupts them; Gerry yelling from downstairs, "Ben's here."

He gets up, putting the asleep-again Nur, back in her crib, "We should go meet him." He tries to put his stern face on as he stands at the top of the stairs.

"You must be Ben." And the boy nods his head, meeting Fitz halfway for a handshake. "So what's the plan?" The teenager forces himself to look into his eyes, blinking furiously a few times.

"We're going to Holly's now. Everyone's meeting up there. My sister's dropping us off. And then the dance, and we'll be back by 10." He says it all in one breath.

"Very well." He pats his shoulder. "No funny business!" And the boy looks absolutely terrified, "unless of course you're good at telling jokes."

"Which, my dad isn't." Zo says from the stairs, Liv standing behind her, trying to look friendly, aware that the boy is probably scared out of his mind as it is.

"Zoey, you look amazing." He says, his eyes almost as wide as his smile. And she blushes, looking at the floor quickly, but then lifts her head and gives him one of her signature smiles – the ones that melt hearts. She comes down the stairs, pausing on the last step, unsure of what to do. He comes closer, taking her hand, and kissing her cheek, "Shall we?"

And she hops off of the step cheerfully, following him to the door.

"Wait! A photo." And they both blush, looking at each other, then giggling when their eyes meet. He wraps his arm around her, careful to keep his hand visible, resting on her arm – under the piercing gaze of Ftiz' eyes. Liv ushers them out and then makes them pose a few more times, before Zo finally has enough and waves her goodbye, practically running to the car.

* * *

"I can't believe you made the same joke you made with, what-was-his-name?"

"Oh, the guy with the hair!" Referring naturally to Karen's first boyfriend.

"Yeah, dad. It was an awful joke then as well." And he pats his shoulder, grinning; as he follows him into the kitchen.

"You want a beer?" And he just stares at him, trying to read his expression, but failing miserably. "Oh, come on Ger. You're sixteen. I know you're drinking, and it's pointless to tell you shouldn't be; I just want you to do it responsibly. And there isn't a more responsible way to drink than with your old man, sitting in the garden, talking about the good-ol'-days."

"Well, if you'll be talking like that, they yeah – I'd like a beer." He says grinning, as he reaches over the counter to grab the open bottle from his hand, before going into the garden.

They settle down into the heavy wooden chairs, leaning back, beers in hands. "Have you spoken to Karen lately?" The boy takes a sip, nodding. "How is she doing?" He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes, "I can't tell." He sounds broken, defeated; exhausted. "I… She sounds fine, but then I don't know if it's a front. I don't know if she's just trying to be strong, or if she's genuinely doing better. And I don't want to hover, I don't, but I just-"

"She's OK dad."

"Yeah?" It's not a question, it's a plea; he's willing it to be real.

"Yeah. She still can't drive, and she still has the nightmares sometimes. But she talks to Zo every day, and that, that helps. And Liv calls her regularly, and she calls her whenever she has a bad dream, and Liv talks her back to sleep."

Relief. He feels relief. But also, just for an instant, a painful instant of utter humanity, he feels jealousy. Gratitude. But then there's also a sting of jealousy. And the boy can tell, he can tell he struck a chord. He's noticed it before, that something was off.

"Is everything OK, with you and Liv, I mean?"

He looks at him, and smiles wistfully. "Yeah. I just… I just wish I could be there for her. I just wish, I wish she trusted me." And as soon as he says it, his eyes shoot up, panicking; he thought it – he thought it many times indeed, but he never intended to say it, let alone to his sixteen year-old.

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to make him feel better. How to make him understand that she's not intentionally pushing him away, that she just needs time to process things, before she can let him in. He can see it – he can see her pushing and him pushing, and them clashing; he could see it ever since Zo told him, years ago. It's how they are, it's how they function. They see it; from outside, they can see the patterns; they can see the reason behind it, the logic – they can see their love for all it is, not just the overwhelmingly good, the all-consuming, or the devastating aspects of it. But the two of them, they, they don't see it like that. They just see little specs; overwhelming in intensity. Either they're so very happy; or they're drowning – trying to hold on to each other as waves crash over them. They don't do normal; they do extraordinary; but the thing is, extraordinary is so often overwhelming, so often too heavy a burden to bear; so often a cross to big to carry. They're extraordinary people, with extraordinary feelings – and for the rest of their lives they will be flying, soaring, then crashing and, again, rising from the ashes. But they can't see that, and even if they could; they'd still be the same. So he has nothing to say. Nothing, aside from, "I'm seeing someone."

His father smiles, taking a gulp from the bottle, playing with the liquid in his mouth. Finally he looks at him, still smiling, "Who is he?"

And he freezes. This isn't how he imagined it; what he prepared for. He was ready to explain, ready to answer questions. He was ready to justify himself, his feelings, and the way he is. But, the way his dad is smiling – he isn't looking for justifications or explanations; he isn't looking for any of it; he knows and he accepts it, accepts him. He knows and it's OK. Suddenly his lungs feel light, like a burden had been lifted from them; an impossible burden, too heavy; a burden that was breaking him. And before he realizes tears are rolling down his cheeks, falling freely, and he's sobbing. And a pair of strong arms are pulling him in, drawing soothing circles on his back, whispering, "It's OK. Ger, It's OK."

He finally calms down, wiping his face with his sleeve, smiling, sheepishly past the tear-stained cheeks. "How did you know?"

"I just always knew. But I figured you'd tell me when you were ready." And he messes his hair up, playing with the unruly curls. "So, tell me about the guy."

"He's a senior. He's on the football team. He's pretty funny. And he's pretty good looking."

"And you really like him?"

He smiles, his eyes suddenly distant, as if trying to catch a fragment of a happy memory, a vignette of a past reality. "Yeah, I really like him!"

"And you're being safe?"

"Dad!"

"No, we are talking about this! I talked to Karen and Liv and I spoke to Zo, and now I need to tell you the same thing. Guys, guys can be assholes. And you need to be smart about this and protect yourself, because Ger, no one else will. OK? Contraception, isn't just about birth control, it's STDs as well and I need you to think about that. Guys will lie about things, so I really, really need you to be smart about this. Just because you can't come home pregnant, doesn't mean you don't need to be careful. Got it?" And he just nods his head, his face a bright red. "Ok, then. Now, really tell me about the guy, because the initial description was so vague that I couldn't even recognize him in a line-up."

They talk for a while. He doesn't understand. It's so easy, so unbelievably easy; so natural. He's been terrified. He felt so wrong for such a long time, but now, now he feels like he's finally coming into his own, like he can finally breathe. He felt fear, and uncertainty, doubt; but now, now all he feels is love and acceptance. They hear the shuffle as Zo comes back, voices and the buzz of excitement. He can tell that he really wants to go in, grill her about it, find out the details of her evening, "It's OK Gerry. You can go in. Catch up with her."

"You sure? I can stay out here with you, keep you company?"

"No, I'll be OK buddy." And he nods, and heads inside. "Ger?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming, for Zoey. It meant a lot, to Liv and me."

"No problem."

"And Ger?"

"Yeah?" He says with a soft chuckle, as he pauses again, already at the kitchen door.

"Thanks for telling me."

"I love you dad." And with that he steps inside, leaving him in alone, under the stars, on a warm October night.

* * *

"Ger and Zo are having a sleepover." Her voice breaks him out of his thoughts. He smiles weakly, as he reaches for the cup of tea that she's handing him. "I'm sorry about what I said this morning."

"I just wish you had talked to me, told me. I mean Liv, it's our life, you can't just go ahead deciding these things!"

"I didn't decide anything." He just looks at her, clearly frustrated. "I didn't! I said it this morning, because I was sleepy and I was perfectly happy in your arms and you had to get up, because our baby was up. A baby that I love and adore. But sometimes, sometimes, I just miss – us. And that's what happened this morning. It was me, just being exhausted and needy."

"Oh." It's all he says. Oh. Because nothing else quite effectively depicts how silly, how childish he feels, how guilty for getting mad at her, for jumping to conclusions.

"Oh? You thought I'd decide something like that without you and all I get is an – Oh?" She doesn't sound angry, not even a little bit, she just sounds hurt; a crack in her voice that makes him flinch – he hates himself for being the reason for it.

"I'm sorry. I just… you box me out Liv. You shut down and you leave me out, and especially after the miscarriage, you just… you've been talking to everyone, but me." She looks at him, clearly puzzled. "Gerry said you've been talking to Karen. And I love you for it, but I just, I wish you'd talk to me. When you said it, when you said that this morning, I just assumed it was something you decided on your own. I mean you made all the decisions about Zo, until Boston; you decided we're going to California for Thanksgiving, and didn't even talk to me about it; you've booked us on a flight to Paris for Christmas and we never discussed that; you didn't even tell me your mom was sick." She looks up at him instantly, her eyes suddenly full of fear. "Come here?" And he takes her hand and pulls her from her chair to his. She sits on his lap and settles into his arms. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just… telling you, telling you makes things real. You're the most important person in my life. And when I tell you something, good or bad, that's what makes it real. And I just, I don't want this to be real."

"But it is."

"I know." There's a muffled sob and her body shakes against his. And he just holds her; running his arms along her side soothingly.

"Hey, hey… I will be there. Every step of the way. I will be there, for you and for her."

"OK." She just breathes it out, a bare whisper against his skin, as she nuzzles her forehead into the crook of his neck. He massages the back of her hand with his thumb and her breathing evens, following the slow rhythm. "The other stuff-"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does! I didn't tell you about Thanksgiving because I said it to Karen without thinking. And then I panicked. She was upset and it was late, and she had just had one of her nightmares and she called me and she started freaking out and I tried to distract her by mentioning the Holidays and saying we'll all have them together as a family; which naturally she interpreted as Mellie as well. So then I had to call her and arrange it. Which is why I didn't say anything. It was all just so rushed. And honestly, I didn't want you to change my mind. Karen just needs us to be grown-ups. And Paris, I just wanted some – us time – for Christmas. I should have talked to you about it, but the thing is, when we talk, one of us is always rational, and I just, I didn't want to be rational, so I did it. I booked it. We don't have to do it."

"I want to go to Paris Livvy. I'm sorry, OK? I just felt like you were starting to pull back again and I hate that; I hate feeling helpless. I don't need to know everything. I'm sorry. I just need to know the important things. The big things. The stuff with your mom, I just want to know, because I want to help you, make it better."

"I don't think we can make this better."

"No." They let it hang in the air, wash over them – the inevitability of death.

"I do want another baby though." She says, as she kisses his jaw.

"You do?"

"Yeah. Not yet. Not right now. But I do. Come on, Nur is just too cute. To stop now would be a crime."

"That is true." And they let it hang in the air, the prospect of a new life washing over them.

* * *

**I honestly hope that that was worth the wait and that it didn't disappoint. Thanks for all your reviews, I genuinely love reading them - you guys have pretty amazing insight into these characters.**


	31. A Day in the Life

**OK, I know it's been forever, but I've had the worst writer's block. And this one, this is for Roo, for snapping me out of it (and tolerating me while I was mourning the loss of my mojo). And thanks to everyone else who sent messages - you guys made it come back :)**

* * *

**9:03 am**

She loves waking up to the soft rhythm of heavy raindrops hitting the glass dome; she loves watching them slide down the sides; she loves the way they cling to the edges of the colored glass until they're too heavy to beat gravity; she loves how the shadows dance across the room, how they dance across his bare chest. She traces one, it travels fast, it collides with another one, and she smiles. Her fingertips rest atop of his heart. He stirs lightly. She should let him sleep, she should, really, but he looks so damn adorable, all messy curls, and lips forming an unconscious smile as her fingers trace his abs. She can't resist him. She kisses his cheek, then his jaw, a feather-light touch of lips against the tip of his chin; his chest, and peppered kisses down his torso. A breathless "Livvy…" escapes his lips as her hand moves past his waistband. She looks up, her chin resting just above his hip, and smiles at him – mischievously. As she wraps her hand around his throbbing member and tugs, he inhales sharply and clenches his jaw. "Hi," before she's kissing a trail down his hips.

"Wait," and she looks up, rolling her eyes, "it's 9, Nur should have woken us up by now. Why isn't she up?" He asks, his voice laced with concern.

"I bribed Zo last night." And she's back to kissing him.

"What do you mean, you bribed Zo?"

"She's babysitting this morning, and in turn we're letting her pitch it to us today." She's lowering her head, but then he speaks again. She lets out a sigh of protest and shoots him an icy glare.

"But I thought we agreed she's not skipping?"

"Fitz, I need you to stop talking about kids for 20 minutes."

He grins down at her, running his hand along her side, sending chills down her spine, "Why?" She runs her thumb across his tip and with that they're done talking.

**10:30 am**

"20 minutes?" He chuckles softly into her hair, as his breath steadies. He feels her smiling against his heaving chest, her hand seeking out his, instinctually. Interlaced, perfectly, her slender fingers between his wide knuckles; her small palm resting in his, her pulse against the soft heel of his hand.

"It was 20 minutes," she retorts, faux-offended, "but then you started round 2."

"And then you started round 3!"

"No, I did not!" She props herself on her elbows, resting them on his torso, "You did the thing-"

"I did the thing because you did that thing!" And he gives her a knowing look, tilting his head slightly to the side as his mouth stretches into a serene smile.

"Oh yeah," and she rests her cheek on his chest again, "I did start round 3."

"Well in that case…" And he sneaks one of his arms around her waist and starts ticking her side. She erupts in laughter, her whole body shaking, her head rolling off of his chest and falling onto the mattress as she tries, feverishly, to retaliate.

"Fitz," she manages to utter between laughs that echo through the room, "stop it!" and she squirms, trying to wiggle her way out of his reach, but then thinks better of it. She reaches for his face, her hands cupping his cheeks, and she pulls him in for a kiss. She traces the seam of his lips with her tongue as her hands move to his hair; he parts his lips slowly, only enough for his tongue to glide out, slide over hers, into the familiar mouth – the warmth, the velvety texture, the feeling of belonging. Soft moans escaping, soft moans being swallowed. The shared breaths, the shared air – life being exchanged, breathed in, given. Immortality in a kiss.

She pulls away, breathless, biting his bottom lip lightly, "We should get up." She kisses him again, a soft peck, two smiles meeting. "We need to shower. We smell like sex." She slips out of bed effortlessly, before he can quite register what she's doing.

"You're starting again!" He yells.

"I'm not starting anything." She retorts, winking at him over her shoulder, "I'm walking to the shower."

"Naked. And swaying your hips like that." He catches up and wraps his arms around her, pressing her body against his.

**11:11 am**

"Are you sure about letting Zo pitch it to us?" He asks as he holds the door open for her. "I mean we agreed it was a bad idea for her to skip a grade, it seems unfair to let her do it, when we've already made up our mind."

"Well, maybe we should re-consider." She looks back at him, trying to discern what he's thinking. "Give her a chance to convince us. I mean, we want her to be normal and fit in, but if that's not what she wants, if it doesn't make her happy… maybe we should just hear her out, hear why she wants it."

He looks at her intently, then nods his head, "OK."

"I need you to mean it! Be open-minded about it. I mean her whole life has been turned upside down over the last few months, and I think she feels like she has no control over anything anymore, so I need to give her this; give her an opportunity to make her case. We don't have to agree in the end, but we have to show her that we care about her opinion, that what she thinks matters."

She gives him a pleading look – Bambi eyes and a quivering pout. "Oh, God, Fine!" He opens the door to the nursery and peeks in, "They're not here." She knocks on Zo's door, but no response.

"I just hope they're not _cooking_ again." She says, as she speeds down the stairs. The last time when they decided to 'cook', she came down to the kitchen to find Nur in the sink licking the inside of a bowl resting on hear head like a helmet, reaching her shoulders and Zo laughing and filming her, in between checking on the brownies.

"Zo!" She calls out as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, but instead of waiting for the response she follows the faint laughter. As she approaches the kitchen it grows louder.

"Oh my God." She stops in her tracks, speechless, trying to grab Fitz' hand, pointing outside with the other one; her eyes wide. Unlike her he doesn't even try to stifle his laugh.

"Morning guys! You really slept in this morning." She says grinning, trying to figure out how much trouble she's in.

Cy looks up from where he's kneeling, giving them a knowing look, "Yeah, you really slept in." It only makes Fitz laugh harder, and she tries desperately to keep a straight face.

"What are you doing?"

"We're gardening." The girl replies cheerfully. "I was going to let her watch TV, but kids these days, they watch too much TV and they aren't inside enough, so I thought, why not enjoy the morning sun-"

"It was raining Zoey!"

"Well, why not enjoy the fresh air. And then Cy decided to fix up the garden, and I thought he could use the help-"

"From you two? He could use help from you?"

"Not so much help, as company."

"I see." Damn it, she's grinning. And she looks so happy. Damn it! She can't resist it. Not that face. She melts. And when Nur finally looks up she gives in and lets out a hearty laugh. "Zo, why is there dirt on her face?"

"She wanted to try what it tasted like!"

"Oh God!"

"I didn't let her!" She retorts with a grin, murmuring under her breath, "Once I realized that that was what she was doing."

"Ma! Ma!" And the toddler is wobbling towards her, outstretched arms, and a huge toothless grin.

"Oh, no, no, missy! I'm giving you a bath, before you're allowed to hug anyone!" And the toddler stops in her tracks, then starts walking backwards, laughing mischievously.

"Let them play for a little while longer while we have coffee." He says as he hands her a large mug, wrapping his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. "Then we'll parent."

"OK." And they stand in the doorway, looking out into the garden – content, happy – happier than they could have imagined, happier than they were in their wildest dreams.

**2:24 pm**

"Zo, can you set the table please?" She asks her from the kitchen.

"Already done." She yells over her shoulder, "Nur, can you say skip?" The toddler just giggles and claps her hands. "Skip?" But she just keeps on laughing, completely ignoring the intellectual aspect of the conversation.

"Zo, stop trying to teach her how to say – skip a grade – it won't help make your case!" He says as he puts the salad bowl on the table.

"That's not what-"

"Yeah right!" He kisses the top of her head, "Go wash up." And he grabs the toddler from the high chair and brings her to the kitchen sink, "How can her hands constantly be sticky?"

"I firmly believe she does it just to bug you." And as if to confirm the little girl claps her hands, while nodding her head. "Chicken's ready. Let's go eat." She pauses on her way to the dining room, turning around on her heel, "Fitz, she's fine, no need to give her a complete bath in the sink because she ate an orange. She needs to build up her immune system."

He turns off the tap, whispering under his breath, "I am not being overly protective."

"Of course you're not. You just want her to be disinfected 24 hours a day." She places the hot tray in the middle of the table, pushing a couple of plates back, to make space. "Zo, lunch!" She takes off the cooking mittens and drops them on the counter, before taking a seat. "And it's sweet that you obsess over it, adorable even, but Fitz, she ate dirt this morning – she'll survive sticky hands from eating an orange."

"What time are you guys leaving tonight?" Zo asks as she slides into her seat, reaching for her plate, trying to stop Liv from piling on peas.

"Nine."

"Can Ben come to hang out?"

Before she can answer Fitz is coughing furiously, trying to catch a breath, his face – red. "Sure, Zo." And he shoots her a look, but doesn't say anything, still unable to speak. "Cy will be watching you guys anyway, so just, you know, behave."

"Thanks." She says, bouncing off the chair lightly, straightening her spine in excitement.

"I really don-" But she kicks his leg under the table and he falls quiet, stuffing his mouth with another forkful of chicken instead.

**4:48 pm**

"Ok, she's down for her nap." She says as she wraps her arms around him, resting her cheek on his back.

"Well I'm almost done with dishes, and I think Zo is done setting everything up."

She takes a step back, looking up at his face. "Setting everything up?"

"Yeah, I think she made a presentation and everything." He hands her a plate and she picks up a tea-towel to dry it, leaning her back against the counter.

"Wow." She looks down, reaching for another plate, avoiding his gaze, "she really wants this, huh?"

"Yeah. You still think letting her try and convince us is a good idea?" There's a clear tone of disapproval in his voice, removing all doubt as to his position on the matter.

"I do. And I need you to jump on the bandwagon and trust me on this." She reaches for another plate, still not looking at him.

He turns off the tap and dries his hands, then lifts her chin up with his finger, "OK." He takes the plate out of her hands, "Let's go! She's probably dying to get started." He gives her a quick peck then turns around and leads the way. He pauses at the doorway, leaning onto the wooden frame, looking at the girl, nervously pacing, key-cards in hand. Liv leans into him, smiling.

"Ready?"

She looks up at them, somewhat startled and just nods her head, pointing them to the couch. Her laptop is connected to the TV, the first slide stretched across the large screen.

"Your two main concerns are social and academic and I will address them in turn," she says in a steady voice, drawing in a deep breath. "My school is fairly small, so I already know plenty of people in 10th grade and therefore would have no problem fitting in with them. Secondly, I've always been a bit of an introvert, so it's not like I'm leaving a clique behind, with the fear that I won't be able to fit into another one. Also, I have already switched schools and proven that I can adjust, and this will be good for me, a great prep for college, where I'll have to find my place in a completely new environment. Finally, studies have found that kids who skip a grade, have no social difficulties because of the skip, usually it's connected to high IQs, which tend to lead to introversion." She clicks a button and a graph representing the research findings appears on the screen. They both just nod their heads, impressed and slightly intimidated.

"Regarding academic difficulties. I have been taking college classes online for a couple of months now, so I honestly don't think that 10th grade will be a problem. I have a 4.5 GPA and that will not suffer if I'm allowed to move up. General concern with child psychologists and oppositionists is that the kids who are a top of their class will be demoralized once they're behind, but a) that won't happen, b) if it does, it will be a personal challenge to be the best one again, and it will definitely not demoralize me. But I really wouldn't worry about it. I took SATs for fun three weeks ago, and I got my scores yesterday-"

"You took the SAT? Without telling us?"

"It was just for fun."

"Zo, you have to stop lying to us!"

"I didn't think it was a big deal. I had the money saved up, and it's not like it was dangerous or anything"

"We didn't know where you were. That is dangerous!"

"I got 2200." She says, pleading, her eyes welling up.

"That's not the point Zoey." She says standing up. "You can't lie to us. Ever. That's not OK, it's not acceptable and it needs to stop."

"But-"

"No! We're done here. Go to your room. And you're grounded. No hanging out after school for two weeks."

"But-" She tries, desperation evident in her voice.

"Room. Now." She hisses out, pointing her finger in the direction of the stairs.

She grabs her laptop and marches out, stomping up the stairs loudly, letting out a dissatisfied, "Ughhhh!"

Liv collapses onto the couch, throwing her head in her hands. "Ughhhh!" He tries desperately not to laugh. They're so similar, the same mind, the same hot-headedness and stubbornness, unwillingness to show weakness and ask for help – the same. But neither can see the similarity, neither sees it as the reflection of herself, both too proud to admit their mistake. "I can't believe she lied to us!"

"To take the SAT, Liv."

"That's how it starts!" She says indignantly.

"What, first SATs, then drugs?" He chuckles lightly, massaging the small of her back.

"It's not funny!" She runs her hands down her face, her eyes closed, "It's like she's slipping away, turning into this whole different person that I don't know and don't recognize and I…"

"She's growing up."

"Well I'd like it to stop." He sneaks his arm around her waist and pulls her in, towards his chest, whispering a soft, "I know," into her hair. "She scored 2200?" She finally asks, trying desperately to sound angry and not impressed.

"I know. It's amazing!"

"Yeah." And she finally smiles; pride filling her up. "It was a good presentation, too."

"It was. She made some good points. We could go talk to her headmaster about it?"

"I'll call on Monday, to see when he's free." She inhales his scent, nuzzling into his neck. "Is this puberty? Because I don't know how much more of it I can handle."

"No, Livvy, this is just her being your daughter, a Pope." She looks up at him wide-eyed.

"I am nothing like that!"

"Mhmmm." He says, kissing her forehead, but she moves away.

"Don't mhmmm me, I'm not."

"Mhmmm. Remember how you informed me a few weeks back that you've submitted _Look to the Stars_ for consideration for a Pulitzer?"

"That's not the same…" But she drifts off, a realization dawning on her, "Oh, God, she's just like me!" He just nods grinning. He knows her well enough to know not to say anything – it would either earn him another rant, a harangue really, or she'd try to convince him that he's wrong. It's the way Pope girls are – stubborn. "I should go talk to her." She says after awhile, but making no effort to actually get up. She's too comfortable in his arms. The sound of his heart beating is soothing, her blood is no longer boiling; the feel of his hand on her thigh distracting enough.

"You should." But he doesn't move either. Instead, he tightens his grip, lifts his feet up on the coffee table, throws a blanket over them, and closes his eyes, inhaling her scent.

**8:05 pm**

"Mom, get up!" She feels a petite hand squeezing her shoulder and a soft voice, as if in the distance, "Mom!" She slowly opens her eyes, only to realize it's dark outside. Panic floods her body.

"Shit! What time is it Zoey?" She feels him waking up.

"It's 8:05. You have to leave in an hour."

"Shit! Crap, I have to stop cursing. Sorry Zoey. Shit!" She jumps up, grabbing Fitz' hand, "Get up! We have to get ready!" He lazily throws off the blanket and props himself up, before being pulled to his feet.

"Oh, shit! I have to feed Nur first." She says halfway up the stairs.

"I already fed her. We're playing in the nursery." Zo says from the hallway.

She turns around and gives Fitz a nod to head up without her. "Thanks Zo." She motions her to come up, then wraps her arm around the girl as they head to the nursery. "I'm sorry I lost it. I shouldn't have reacted like that."

"I'm sorry I lied. I just… I figured you wouldn't want me to do it, because you don't want me to push myself too hard, so I just thought I'd tell you after I did really well."

"See, you can't do that. You can't hide things from me because you think I'd disapprove. We have to talk about it. Discuss. And maybe, you can change my mind. I learn a lot from you kid, every day, I like when you challenge me, I like when you tell me what you think, and I need you to keep doing it."

"Really?" She asks, smiling.

"Yeah. Really." She kisses her temple, "You're still grounded, but starting Monday. Ben can still come over today."

"Thank you!" And she throws her arms around her, pulling her into a strong hug. "I promise I won't lie again." Liv just chuckles and nods – it's the thought that counts, even if they both know it's not going to last.

She pauses at the door, "2200… That's amazing! I'm so proud of you Zoey."

**8:59 pm**

She slides into the car next to him, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"You look stunning." He's looking at her the way only he can, the way that makes her feel like she's the most mesmerizing person in the world, that makes her feel confident and loved, that makes her feel alive. A look that lights a fire inside.

"You don't look too bad yourself, handsome." His shoulders broad in a tux that fits perfectly, like a glove; his curls gelled, a single unruly one on his forehead, driving her crazy, making her want to kiss him, run her hands through his hair as she moans his name.

He picks up her hand from her lap and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. "Have you spoken to your mom today?" He feels her tense up and kisses her hand again, brushing the back of it against his cheek.

"No, crap! I called her this morning, but she didn't pick up, and then… I just forgot. I'll call her now."

"Don't. She might be resting. You'll talk tomorrow morning." And he presses another kiss on her soft skin, watching her process what he just said, watching the wheels turn inside her head. She just nods, then leans on his shoulder.

The car stops and the driver opens the door. She gets up and he just watches her as she moves. The backless dress that hugs her perfectly; the soft fabric that falls effortlessly and dances with her every step. She looks stunning and he just can't look away. He walks around the car, kisses her softly as he puts his hand low on her back, skin on skin – soothing. "Let's go schmooze."

They walk up the wide steps and through the double doors, into a busy ballroom. The music is soft, the chatter lively, the guests lost in it. She grabs a glass of champagne and he grabs a scotch, before making their way to a quiet corner.

"I feel like we should socialize."

"I don't want to." He says as he kisses her cheek. "I like talking to you. They're boring."

"They're your colleagues!"

"I don't know half their names."

"Well, how about, when we run into someone, you take a sip, I introduce myself, they tell me their names, and then you swallow and greet them?"

He's quiet for a moment, then he steps into her personal space and before she can realize what he's doing he's wrapping his free hand around her neck and lowering his head. His lips are on hers, soft and warm, familiar. She forgets about the ballroom and what's appropriate, forgets about the New York elite surrounding them and the fact that the room is full of journalists. Before she can think better of it she's opening her mouth, letting his tongue in, letting hers duel it. She sneaks her free hand under his tux, letting it travel up and down his back. She doesn't hear the music, doesn't notice the time passing, people and lights dancing. She doesn't notice anything but him. They break away, breathless.

"I love you." He says, leaning against her forehead.

"I love you too." A quick peck. "Now, let's go be grown-ups and work the room." She grabs his hand before he can protest and leads him towards a familiar looking pair.

**11:40 pm**

The sound of her phone breaks them out of the conversation. She reaches into her purse and nods towards the corner, "I'll be right back." He just nods OK.

He watches her walk away, the way her hips sway, the way her curls bounce, that special spring in her step; he watches her, enchanted, completely lost in her very existence. "Fitz."

"Sorry." And he does his best to peel his eyes away from her and focus on the elderly couple before him. "You were saying?"

"Egypt. I'd love to send you there. I understand your reluctance, but I think it would be a great opportunity. Especially since," and he gives him a meaningful look, "you know, the Pulitzer."

He's not going. He doesn't want to leave the kids, Cy, he doesn't want to leave Liv, he doesn't want her to worry. He doesn't want the stress, the running, the constant fear and adrenaline; he doesn't want any of it. But he can't explain it to them, this is neither time, nor the place. He looks over to Liv, hoping she's done and on her way back to rescue him.

She's still in the corner. She puts a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She furrows her brows. She's breathing heavy. He can see her hand trembling. He no longer hears what they're saying, all he sees, all his mind can process is her – shaking, as her phone falls to the ground. All he hears is a loud crash.

**9:03 am**

She doesn't remember him pulling her to the car, she doesn't remember the ride to the hospital. She doesn't remember the city lights flash by, or how desperately she tried to find the stars in the night sky. She doesn't remember the nurse's name, or running down the hallway, heels in hand. She doesn't remember him yelling at the doctor, or how hard he tried to silence her sobs. All she remembers is standing, looking into the room, her mother lying lifelessly, hooked to a million machines. She looked so fragile, so, so fragile – nothing like her mom.

She's looking at the window, but she doesn't see the raindrops as they glide down the smooth surface, as they collide, as they cling to the edges, before falling down. She lowers her head onto the hospital bed, next to her mom's hand. His tux falls off her bare shoulders, but she doesn't notice. She doesn't notice him put it back on; or notice him kiss her temple. She doesn't notice the doctors and nurses come in and leave. She doesn't notice the time passing. She doesn't notice anything, but the sound of thread breathing.

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**Well I hope that this was worth the 100-year wait. Review and let me know what you thought. The reviews really do inspire me endlessly, especially since I've been struggling to write anything for the past week :) **


	32. You're all I need to get by

**SORRYSORRYSORRY! That's all I've got to say for myself. But I promise to update at least a couple of times over the upcoming week, because I love this story. And I really, really, really enjoy writing it. It's just that I've been crazy busy. But now that I'm back in the swing of things, I promise to update more regularly. I mean I updated Grow Up yesterday and this today, and I have a Chapter for 28 Rooms in my head, so things are already looking up :)**

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She drops her keys in the crystal tray on the small ebony table in the hallway. The door closes behind her with a dull thump, and the room is, once again, dark. She peels her coat off slowly, stretching her neck as she slips her arms out of the satin-lined sleeves. She hangs it, but it falls off the hanger and crumples at her feet. She sighs, heavily, and picks it up again, buttoning it around the hanger with shaky fingers. Fitz usually does this. At lest he had been doing it.

He'd go with her in the morning, and she'd rest her head on his shoulder while he'd run his hand along her back soothingly, as the car glides along the busy New York streets. Then once they'd get there, he'd hold her hand, and he'd squeeze it, right before they'd reach her mother's room. He'd squeeze it and smile, a smile that said _I'm here_, and _I love you_ and _You can do this_. And she'd nod, because she'd believe him. And she'd go in. And he'd give them time, because that, that was the only thing they needed more of, not love, never love – just more time. Time that is so mercilessly running out. And then he'd bring her a coffee, and something to eat. And he'd bring Nur and Zoey in, for Diane to see. And he'd tell her a joke that would make her laugh, and her laugh would make Liv want to cry. And he'd know, just when, to slip his hand into hers and take her out of the room. He'd run his finger along her pulse, to keep her calm, until they were alone, until it was safe, safe for her to fall apart in his arms. And she would. She would cry, and he'd just hold her, his arms wrapped around her midsection, holding her up, as her legs gave out. And once she'd calmed down, he'd take a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his jacket, a handkerchief that smelled like him, and he'd wipe the traces of her tears away. Gently, the white silk following his thumb, as her cheek rested in his palm. And then, he'd kiss her temple. And he'd lead her to the edge of the roof, and she'd stand there, looking down – unafraid; forever safe in his arms, his chin on her shoulder, his eyes closed as he inhales her scent. And then they'd go back inside, and Cy would take the girls home, and they'd stay. He'd read in the corner, but she knew, she knew he wasn't reading, he was barely breathing – listening, just like her, to the thready breaths that were getting weaker by the day. And then some days, when it would all get to be too much, she'd sit in his lap, her body engulfed by his, the beeps drowned out by his steady heartbeat. They'd leave in time to get Nur ready for bed, and he'd hold her hand all the way back. He'd unlock the door, and open it for her; he'd help her out of her coat, and he'd kiss her cheek gently, before leading her in. Into the space where life went on, the space filled with familiar laughter.

Now, it took her five minutes to unlock the door, because her hands were shaky – form exhaustion, or maybe from the cold. And her coat is on the floor, and she sighs, because she is just so tired; so, so tired. And she slips off her heels and heads into the quiet. The tears streaming down her face, not disturbing the silence.

She takes out the bowl he left for her in the fridge, and she makes herself a cup of tea; she even adds honey – she promised him, and she knows – he'll ask, and she doesn't want to lie; she doesn't have the energy, and he'd know and it would hurt him; it would hurt him and he'd worry. She sits on the couch and pulls her knees up and throws a soft blanket over her body. She presses play on the remote, and his voice fills the room. _Chapter 32_. And she smiles. Finally able to relax.

She listens to the whole chapter, as she switches from tea to wine, and replaces the meal he left for her with a bowl of freshly popped caramel popcorn. She dials the familiar number, and bites her lip as she listens to the echo of the rings.

"Mom!" An excited voice comes from the noise.

"Gerry! Traffic signs are not a buffet table, where you get to choose which ones to follow. A STOP means you need to stop, not decide there's no need and then just drive."

"Dad. THERE WERE NO CARS." She can hear them bickering in the background and she smiles.

"So Fitz is still teaching Ger how to drive, huh?"

"Yeah," Zo laughs, "We already made three stops in the last hour, and dad had to take a fifteen minute walk at the last one."

"Is that Liv?" And she can hear the worry in his voice, and she feels guilty – for needing him, for needing him more than she ever needed anything; for letting him in, for letting him see the depth of her fear, her vulnerability. Maybe, maybe it's too much, after all.

"Zo, tell him he can call me later. Don't let him use the phone now. I'd much rather he stays focused on Ger and the STOP signs." And she hears the teenager relay the message, then ignore Fitz' protests as she speaks again.

"How's grandma?" She asks quietly, as if her tone will somehow make the question, the answer less painful.

"She's holding on." That's not an answer, not to what she's asking anyway. The girl wants to know how many hours, how many days, if she's in pain; if she can still talk, if she can laugh and tell jokes. But all she knows, all she can muster is – she's holding on. Because each day she wakes up, and goes to bed expecting her to slip away, to just disappear into the nothingness. So for her, holding on – it's all she can hope for, all she dares want. And it's selfish, she knows; because she is in pain, and she can barely laugh anymore, and she's ready, ready to go – but still, _she's holding on_. "How's the cooking going?"

"Good!" She says excitedly, clearly happy to move on to a different topic. "Mellie taught me how to make pumpkin pie. It's a DAR recipe, so it's super special."

"Yeah, only the privileged middle class can make it." She hears Gerry chime in, and she can't help but chuckle. She misses them, all of them and their antics. But Karen hasn't been well, and she needed to go home, feel grounded, have the love and support of those closest to her around her.

Zoey ignores his comment and carries on, unfazed, "We also got this huge turkey-"

"Yes, to symbolize the slaughter of the Indians." Gerry interrupts.

"Fitzgerald Grant, how about you dial back on the sass." She hears Fitz' firm voice, but there's a tone of amusement in it, clearly he's enjoying the antics as much as she is.

"How's Nur?" She hears Ger ask, and she smiles into the phone, resting her head on the back of the couch.

"She's good. She's with Cy. He should drop her by any moment now. He's trying to teach her to say apolitical."

"How's that going?" And she finds it fascinating, truly fascinating, that his voice can still calm her down, and fill her up with warmth, even as it comes mixed with static through a speakerphone. She can imagine his eyes, the way they light up when he's around the kids, when he talks about them, when he thinks about them. She can see that dreamy smile that appears on his lips when he sees her. She can _almost _feel his hand on hers, his heartbeat in her ear. But almost, has never been good enough; never enough.

"Well, she's saying ethical." And his laugh makes her feel alive, makes her forget all about death, for the briefest blissful moment. But then she hears the familiar footsteps and the sound of small hands slapping the elderly man's cheeks. "I should go, Cy's here."

"We love you." All three of them say at the same time.

"I'll call you later." And she nods her head in agreement, forgetting that he can't see her.

"She's nodding." Cy yells from the doorway.

"I know." Fitz says, and she smiles, because – of course he does. And the line goes dead.

"Hey." And she gets up, setting the phone and the wine on the glass table. She walks around the couch and gives Cy a kiss on the cheek, before stretching her arms out to pick up the gleeful toddler from his arms.

"Mama." And she kisses her temple and inhales her scent – she smells like fresh fruit and warm cotton candy, like summer breeze and snow melting in early spring. Like _their _baby.

"Yeah, mama's here." And she tickles her sides gently, and the toddler erupts in a fit of laughter, her four teeth peaking from behind her full lips. She settles her on her hip, running her free hand down the girl's tender arm.

"Thanks so much Cy. Can I get you some wine?" And she doesn't wait for him to reply, before heading towards the kitchen.

"No, I'm OK, actually. I should get going." And she turns around giving him a quizzical look. "I… I have a date."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have taken her off your hands earlier!" He just shakes his head, a shy smile stretching across his lips. "So, who's this man who managed to get your attention?"

"He's a political analyst. Teaches at Columbia part-time, and works as an advisor for investment banks."

"That's great! I'm so happy for you. You'll tell me about it tomorrow over dinner?" She asks, smiling. "I plan on making turkey sandwiches."

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Good! Now, go, can't be late for a first date!"

And he heads towards the door, then turns around as he reaches the hallway, "Liv?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." She gives him a confused look. "For… for bringing me back to life. I know it wasn't easy… I know I didn't make it easy, but, you, you and Fitz, saved me."

"Cy…"

"You did. And I want you to know… If I could, instead of Diane… If I could… I'm sorry she's dying."

A tear rolls down her cheek, and she inhales sharply. Nur reaches with her small hand and wipes the tear away, then licks her chubby finger. Cy walks back to where she's standing and wraps his arms around her, squishing Nur in the process, eliciting a loud protest. He feels her breathing even in his arms, and he gives her a moment before stepping away. "She ate."

And he kisses both their temples, before leaving.

She takes the toddler upstairs and runs her a bath. The little girl splashes in the warm water and scrubs the bottom of the bathtub with her toothbrush, charming her with the most adorable mischievous grin, digging her lone two upper teeth into her bottom lip. She blinks furiously trying to get the drop of water that's stuck to her long eyelashes to fall down. She shakes her head, in the same attempt, and Liv can't help but laugh, everything else temporarily forgotten. She wraps her in a towel and runs it through her curly hair. She puts her shooting star PJs on and lowers her down into her crib, as her eyelids fall shut, over the cerulean eyes. She presses the button on the baby monitor, turns on the pink lava lamp and heads downstairs to continue the conversation she was having with her wine.

Press play. _Chapter 33_.

/

She feels the pillow vibrate under her head, and she stirs awake. She slides her finger across the screen, and brings the cool glass to her ear.

"Hi."

And she turns on her back, and looks at the ceiling, a small smile appearing on her lips. "Hi."

"Oh, god, I woke you up." His voice is a mix of panic and guilt. "I'll call you tomorrow, go back to sleep."

"No… Fitz." She manages to say groggily, "just give me a sec." And she sits up, and shakes her head a couple of times. "I'm awake."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I was waiting for your call."

"Oh, god, that's making me feel worse. I got distracted and…"

"Fitz," she says softly, and he quiets instantly, "I love you."

He sighs heavily, he knows, understands – the statement is loaded. "I love you too. And I miss you. Like crazy." She doesn't say anything. She just breathes. Her breaths matching his. "How is she?"

"She's…"

"Holding on." He finishes for her.

The thing people mourn about death is the loss of life, the loss of memories, of dreams, of stories. And the thing about someone disappearing slowly – the mourning, it starts early, before death ever settles fully. She's alive, but she's not living – she's alive, getting ready to die. She's holding on. And Liv, she's holding on too, not to hope, but to the brief moments of life that come between hours of sleep, hours of pain and unconsciousness; she's holding on to the past, trying to make the moments of clarity last.

"She told me she wanted to be buried next to dad today."

"Oh, Livvy…"

"She said maybe he found happiness in death." She rests her forehead on the heel of her palm, then pinches the bridge of her nose with slender fingers. "She sounded… jealous."

"Liv…"

"I know." She manages to utter between sobs, "I know. She's tired and she's exhausted and she's in pain, and she's ready. I get it. But… I'm not. I'm not ready. And I see her. I see her disappearing. I see her suffer, and I can't let go. She's not holding on, I'm making her hold on. And I know it's selfish, I know I… I just… She's… She's my mom." And she can't breathe, her throat is closed; her lungs not expanding; her vision blurry. The room is filled with sharp breaths, with gasps for air.

"Liv, Livvy…" But she can't speak, she can't let him know she can hear him. "Breathe for me." She's trying, she is, but the air – it's just not reaching her lungs. And then, then he's singing, quietly.

_Like sweet morning dew, I took one look at you,  
And it was plain to see you were my destiny,_

And she remembers the rooftop, and how his hand felt low on her back; as they danced, as this song played; she remembers the way her carried her through that hotel room door; how his fingers felt as he unzipped her dress. How happy, how infinitely happy she felt.

_With arms open wide I threw away my pride,  
I'll sacrifice for you, dedicate my life to you,_

And she can hear the beats of his foot against the floor, and her breathing is falling into the steady rhythm.

_I will go where you lead, always there in time of need,  
And when I lose my will you'll be there to push me up the hill._

And she's humming absentmindedly along with him, finding solace in his velvety baritone. Comfort in the warmth of his voice.

_There's no, no looking back for us,  
We got love sure enough, that's enough,  
You're all, you're all I need to get by._

__"I'm sorry." She whispers, says it in a shallow breath.

"Never be sorry for letting me see you. Never be sorry for letting me help you._ Never_ be sorry for letting me love you."

"I… I don't want you to… to think I'm weak. I… I was always, I was never weak. That's not who you fell in love with." And her voice cracks as she speaks her biggest fear.

"You're the strongest person I know Livvy. And that will never change. Strength isn't measured by the number of tears not cried, it's measured by those you let flow freely, by those you feel as they stream down your cheeks. It's measured by the times you let yourself fall apart and then pick yourself back up. And the only thing that's different this time is, you're finally letting me hold your hand, be there. That's not a weakness – trust, love – those are strengths. And this different strength – it's just making me love you even more. Every day. Just a little bit more.

"The grace with which you handle this, the grace with which you help her handle it – you're the epitome of strength Liv. And I love you for it. And for so much more."

"Nur scrubbed the bottom of the bathtub with her toothbrush." There's nothing she can say to him, nothing that would measure up to this – aside from _I love you_, and _I miss you_ and she knows, saying either will make him want to come back; and she doesn't want that. She doesn't want him to run back to her rescue, she can do this, she can handle this, and Karen, Karen needs him to stay.

"Well, I'm glad she's found her calling." And they both chuckle.

"Cy has a date."

"Who with?" And she can feel the excitement in his voice.

"This political analyst. I will have the details tomorrow when you call."

"Dad!" She hears Gerry calling him.

"You should go." She says softly.

"No, I… They can wait for a while."

"No, go. Make DAR cakes. I'm OK." She corrects herself, "I'm on my way to being OK."

"Call me? If there's anything?"

"Of course."

"I love you."

"More than you know." She says, before pressing disconnect.

* * *

**Writing this broke my heart a little bit (read: a lot). But I just LOVE that Liv is letting him in, and that he's helping her deal with everything. I just love how much they've both grown. She's not pushing him away, and he's not jumping on the first plane back - they're communicating and my babies are a team.**

**And just one more thing - THANK YOU SO MUCH for still reading this story, for reviewing, for asking about it and messaging me. I love reading all of your comments, so honestly, thank you so much.**


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